


A Good Man Feelin' Bad

by brandyllyn



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 40,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandyllyn/pseuds/brandyllyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really should go out more often if girls - *women* he heard Olivia correct him in his head - were this forward now. Rafael had vague memories of ducking heads, making heated promises while trying to catch someone else’s lips with his. Stolen kisses given reluctantly and nearly always for a price. That had been before. Before he had given up his social life and moved to the Manhattan attorney’s office. It wasn’t this though, not frank proposals and sighs of disappointment. Not fingers tangled into his shirt on a busy street and eyes that couldn’t seem to look away from his lips. He licked at them unconsciously, watching her own part as he did so.</p><p>Hell, it was a brave new world out there - he fully intended to enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really suck at summaries if you haven't noticed.
> 
> For the record, I ship Barson 100% but I can't write Olivia Benson consistently to save my life (believe me I've tried) so have this instead...

He was late. Leave it to the wonderful detectives of Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit to make him an hour - he checked his watch - no, _two_ hours late to the benefit gala. Rafael handed his jacket to the waiting attendant, catching his reflection in the brass doors of the elevator and straightening his bowtie. When he entered the large ballroom he unconsciously unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket - a nervous habit he had picked up in law school.

“Barba!” someone shouted and Rafael turned to greet them, smiling as he shook the man’s hand.

“Senator Caffrey, always a pleasure.”

The younger man pulled Rafael over to the group he was speaking with - congratulating him on a recent case where he had prosecuted an upper east side private school kid with rape and assault. Never mind of course that the kid was the son of one the Senator’s political rivals. It was a job well done in spite of that and no one in the group was crass enough to point out the benefits.

He smiled tightly at them, nodding along to the jokes and thinly veiled references to his own eventual political campaign - if he kept making the right friends. Friends like them. How quickly they forgot his past transgressions. Until he stepped into the spotlight of course.

Excusing himself, he grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter, scanning the room until he found an abandoned high table near the corner. Leaning against it, he tucked the tips of his fingers under his bow tie and pulled it a fraction looser, regretting the decision to come at all tonight. He wouldn’t have been missed, not as late as he had arrived, and while he enjoyed the promenade as much as anyone what he really wanted - more than anything - was to sleep.

As he stood at the high cocktail table at the corner of the room he found his attention drawn to a couple to his left, a man and woman. The man looked like he’d just wandered in off the streets, his suit jacket ill-fitting, his hair unkempt. It deeply offended Rafael and he resisted the urge to shudder a little as he took in the outfit. She, on the other hand, was stunningly beautiful in a red dress just off of orange - that coral color that had been all of the rage last year but was rapidly falling out of fashion. He and his tailor had discussed it briefly but he had felt it didn’t work with his complexion. It looked perfect on her - like she was made for it, or it for her. He watched with interest, out of the corner of his eye of course, while they argued. Her perfectly pinned black hair didn’t move as she vehemently shook her head and the man finally threw his hands up and walked away. She moved Rafael’s direction and he became very interested in his wine. Grabbing a glass from a nearby waiter she stopped not too far from him.

“Lover’s quarrel?” he looked at her from under lowered eyebrows and felt a little guilty when she began to cough, choking on her drink.

“Excuse me?”

He gestured with one raised eyebrow, “Your beau and you seem to be having a disagreement.”

“Oh god no.” She paused, her eyes scanning him slowly and he felt himself blushing a little under her perusal. He was used to people looking at him, of course he was - but not so much looking at _him,_ and certainly not in that frank admiring way. “He’s a… colleague I’d suppose you say.”

She was watching him, waiting on him to say something and he offered his hand, “Rafael Barba.”

Smiling, she took it - her palm was almost hot against his, and soft, “Roseline Dagust. Nice to meet you.” She said it ‘dah-goost’, a French pronunciation and he filed the information away.

“The pleasure is mine,” he replied smoothly, holding her hand a moment longer than was strictly necessary and stroking his thumb across the back. He let go, pushing the edge of his jack back and slipping it into one of his pockets. “Are you here with someone tonight Ms Dagust?”

She blinked at him, an expression crossing her face too fleeting for him to catch, “Not at all. You?”

He shook his head, sipping at his wine and watching her. She did the same and they stared at each other for a long, silent minute. Suddenly they were both smiling and she was laughing. “We must look ridiculous, trying to out-suave each other.”

“You’re just upset that you were losing.”

“Well, we can’t all be James Bond tonight,” she tilted her head, “James Barba?”

He felt some of the tenseness of the last few days - who was he kidding, _months_ \- drain out of his shoulders and enjoyed the flirtation. “Ah, but I don’t have near the gadgets that he does.”

Lips pursing into a slight pout she asked, “No invisible boat? A watch that doubles as a motorcycle?”

“I’m afraid not,” he told her apologetically. “Not even a dingy to my name.”

“Well that’s too bad - I can’t abide a man without so much as an invisible dingy,” her grin was without any hint of apology and he found himself returning it. “So what made you so late this evening? Espionage? Please tell me it _was_ espionage.”

“No,” he replied regretfully, sighing for effect, “just work running late. As usual. How did you know I only just got here?”

She bit her lip, “I have my ways. I am very observant.”

He tilted his head, leaning towards her a little. Her lips parted and a part of him, the part he kept very careful control of, told him to kiss her. He pushed the thought away. He was not going to kiss a near-stranger in the middle of whatever-gala-this-was-this-time. She ran her tongue along her lower lip and he felt his resolve weaken. Just a touch.

Her eyes caught on something over his shoulder and he stopped, half turning to follow her gaze. The man from earlier was gesturing at her across the ballroom, tapping on his watch. Turning back, he saw her sigh, setting the wine glass down on the table and smoothing her hands against her dress. “I’m sorry but I have to go.”

“Wait,” the word burst out of him a little louder than he intended, “let me get your card.”

“I don’t have one.”

That was odd, nearly everyone had a card at these functions. “Your number then.” He looked around quickly for a piece of paper, feeling the ticking clock before he lost her.

She grinned and stepped close to him, reaching a hand up slowly - giving him time to move away but he didn’t. “I’d be willing to bet that you have a pen in there.” She slipped a hand into his tuxedo coat, skimming his chest and then smiling as she pulled out the silver Montblanc. “See? I win.”

He gave her a half-smile, their mutual inhale of breaths causing her breasts to skim his jacket. He really was standing far too close to her. Not that he cared. “I never took the bet.”

Winking at him, she turned slightly to the cocktail table and scribbled onto a napkin there, “You should have. I have all sorts of interesting ideas of things you could do to repay it.” She tucked the pen back into his suit, neatly folding the napkin and slipping it into a pocket as well. She was close enough to smell, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss…

He searched for words. Words were his life, his reason - words were his everything. They always came when he needed them and suddenly instead of words he was getting images. Mental pictures of bodies entwining and heated caresses. Ignoring his dumbfounded look she sashayed away and out a side door. He watched her, jaw half-dropping before shaking his head. He smoothed the front of his tuxedo, buttoning the top button, and moved back into the crowd. 

“Raffie old boy, come meet my wife.”

Rafael smiled as he crossed to the couple, “You are a radiant pleasure this evening Mrs Wallstone.”

“It is so _good_ to meet someone who still knows how to pay a lady compliment. And please,” she waved him off with one hand, “Call me Joanne.”

He gave her his most winning smile, both of them knowing he never would. Her husband sat in the second circuit US court of appeals, putting him a damn sight higher on the social chain than Barba was - and by extension elevating his wife as well. But it was practically a social formality to make the offer - much the same way he would never accept it.

The unmistakable sounds of a band tuning caught his attention. He hadn’t realized there was entertainment tonight. As the first piano note floated into the air he glanced at the stage on the far end of the room and then quickly turned his head as the bright coral dress caught his eye.

 _My Momma done told me_  
_When I was in pigtails  
_ _My momma done told me, hon…_

It was a crime, the way her hands caressed the microphone on its stand. Someone should arrest her for it - he could charge her with public indecency for certain. Her lips were a brighter red than before and he could see their every movement even across the fifty or so feet of crowded ballroom. Not a guest tonight then - that explained why he hadn’t recognized her. For a brief moment he did the mental social calculus that he always found himself doing when he met someone new at an event. Did this person help him in his goals or would they hinder him? It was a pricey event, making it likely that she was well-respected performer in her field. He pursed his lips, settling on somewhere between too little information and possibly helpful.

 _A man’s gonna sweet-talk_  
_And give you the big eye  
_ _But when the sweet talkin’s done…_

She sounded different on stage, her voice low and throaty, sex wrapped up in more sex with a side of, what was it, oh yes - sex. He thought about the number in his pocket, wondering what might make a woman like her come onto a guy like him. Yes, he was successful - but so was everyone else in the room - many of them much more so than he. And while he knew he was moderately handsome, more than anything he felt he must look _tired_. He hadn’t slept more than six hours at a time in over a year, usually far, _far_ less than that. He patted the pocket where her number sat for a moment and turned back to the small group he was with. No point in dwelling on it now - there would be plenty of time tomorrow to puzzle about it if he really wanted to.

 _A man is a two-face_  
_A worrisome thing_  
_Who’ll leave you to sing  
_ _The blues in the night…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ella Fitzgerald sings 'Blues in the Night' .... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5oW0hopdqY


	2. Chapter 2

Roseline, known to everyone in the world but her father and herself as Rose, wiped at the glass bottle, carefully placing it high on the shelf behind the bar. The morning light peeked through the heavy paper and curtains covering the windows and she squinted against it. Eleven in the morning was not a time for man nor beast to be out and about in her opinion - but no one had done the take from last night while she was out and the frantic phone call from her sister at the doctor’s office was enough to know that no one else was available. Apparently, closing last night had not included cleaning up either since the place was in shambles when she arrived.

The Dust Bar was her father’s, but more and more she found herself having to turn down gigs to work there. Pa was old, not just getting old but already legitimately old, and he didn’t have the stamina for the late night anymore.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

She sighed, cleaning up the last of the broken glass - mentally calculating how full the bottle of gin had probably been - before dumping it into the trash and heading downstairs to the books.

Three hours later, surrounded by receipts and a pile of cash that did not add up to what the computer said it should, Roseline was ready to commit a murder. She banged her head on the desk, her braids falling around her face and tickling her cheeks. She groaned as she heard her phone beep in her pocket. It had better not be her sister. She did not have the patience to deal with Ana right now.

- _It was nice meeting you last night Ms Moneypenny_.

She laughed at the screen. Oh, it was her James Bond - that was _so_ much better than Ana. She didn’t even consider playing coy and making him wait. 

- _All of the Bond girls to choose from and you went for Moneypenny?_

_-Moneypenny was always my favorite._

She blushed, then blushed more _because_ she was blushing and that was just ridiculous. She was a grown woman who owned her sexuality and no her heart did _not_ skip a beat when the phone beeped again.

- _May I take you out?_

So polite. He’d seemed ridiculously straight-laced last night, not a hair out of place and perfectly aligned with his well-fitted tuxedo. She noticed things like that - he definitely had a tailor somewhere and even more definitely owned that tuxedo. Thinking back, she wasn’t sure she had ever been on a date with someone who _owned_ a tuxedo. Interesting thought, that.

- _I’m free_ She started typing then paused. She’d be working tonight at the bar, probably Friday as well and she had a gig on Saturday - and closing the bar too if Papa wasn’t feeling better by then.

- _I’m free Sunday._

When no response came after a few minutes she set the phone aside, glancing at it every few moments until she finally switched it to silent and stuffed it back into her pocket. She’d check it after she made the numbers behave.

At half past seven on the dot she let in the first wave of the bar crew and the band for the evening - giving directions about re-stocking and power outlets to each in turn. By the time eight o’clock rolled around the bar shined - not too much of course, the Dust Bar was always intended to look a little grimey. The best blues bars did. But it looked clean and welcoming, a place with _soul_ , not e.coli.

The seating filled up quickly, luckily it nearly always did, and by the time the band took the stage at nine there was a line by the door and standing room only inside. It wasn’t until the break after the first set that she thought about her phone.

- _Sunday is great._

_-Brunch?_

_-?_

She smiled, the timing between the second and third response was only about thirty minutes. He was apparently not a patient man. She texted back - _Yes_ to the brunch and then followed up with, - _Where and when?_

The response was almost instantaneous.

- _Eleven. The NoMad. Broadway & 28._

She’d never heard of it but that wasn’t exactly out of the question. She rarely brunched, certainly not at swanky hotels. Groaning she slipped the phone back into her pocket - she’d be home four in the morning earliest, likely closer to five. Then up, not just awake but _up_ , by nine if she was going to have any hope of looking good for this date.

Hopefully, they served _really_ strong coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

Like every morning before it for the last three years Rafael exited the elevators at precisely 7:58am, walking the long hallway to his office and nodding at his assistant as he unlocked the door. Overcoat on the rack, briefcase on the desk and he was unpacked and seated in his very comfortable chair by eight on the dot. Samantha followed him inside, laying a copy of the _Times_ on the edge and sliding his first cup of coffee for the day to him. His first at work that was. She never needed to know that it was at minimum his third.

He was due in court at eleven, more than enough time to review the file once more, make just a few additional notes, go over his question tree. The defendant for today had what was turning out to be an airtight alibi - if he couldn’t get some kind of admission on the stand this was going to make the third case in a row he’d lost. If he was honest with himself, there wasn’t much of a chance for this case as it was.

He _hated_ losing.

He’d never been someone who lost cases before, not in Brooklyn - at least not at near the frequency he did here working with SVU. The file box next to his desk was heavy as he lifted it, standing to shuffle through the papers inside. It wasn’t a reflection on him, he was damn good and he knew it, but the positively _draconian_ assault laws that he was forced to prosecute under day in and-

_Fuck_

The box, sitting far too close to the edge to begin with, toppled over in a completely foreseeable avalanche of files, spilling across his feet in a shower of paper that would have been beautiful if it wasn’t so annoying. Crouching down, he began stacking the paperwork back on his desk, glancing at the dates and trying to find the semblance of order it had had to it before…

Huh. He stopped, flicking through the two papers in his hand. That was odd. He glanced down at the statement again, quickly pulling his laptop to the edge of the desk and bringing up the photos he had been looking at last night.

They didn’t match. 

The witness statement from earlier that week and the photos didn’t match. The photos were the clincher on the airtight alibi and they were either not from that night, faked entirely, or someone was lying - maybe even all three. He grinned - genuine pleasure working across his face as he licked his lips in anticipation.

“Samantha!” he shouted, standing and gripping the papers tight in his fist, “Get me Detective Tutuola at SVU on the phone. _Now._ ”

 

* * *

 

“An hour!” Rafael was practically crowing to Tutuola as he sauntered down the steps of the courthouse. “The jury deliberated for less than an hour, guilty on all counts.” It was indecent of him to be so smug, at best it was simply indecorous - but damn he felt good. James Parstens had folded on the stand like a cheap suit when Rafael had started showing slides of the photos from the night of the crime - each inconsistency turning him a deeper shade of red until he was spluttering and stammering. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Parstens had pointed the finger at practically everyone in the courtroom but Rafael himself and then confessed there and then. It was unbelievable, incredibly lucky - and now Rafael had three new people to try for conspiracy.

Damn but it was turning out to be a good day.

He smiled at Rollins as she met him halfway up the stairs, Tutuola coming up to stand beside them.

“An hour!” he congratulated himself again, knowing he looked smug as shit and not caring even a little. His streak was over - all was once more right with the world.

“It was great Rollins, you should have seen it. Barba demolished that guy. He’s going to have nightmares about you for years.”

Rafael chuckled, swinging his briefcase a little and glancing down at the hot dog cart on the corner. He’d missed lunch - trying to get the new arguments together - and now with the sun setting his stomach was growling something fierce.

“I do hate to cut a victory lap short…” the smile Rollins gave him was tight and Rafael sighed.

“Oh come on, give me just a minute to bask in this, I beg you.”

She shook her head slightly and he stared longingly at the cart as he followed her to the street.

At SVU headquarters, Rollins motioned him into Olivia’s office and he walked through the door without knocking. “What do you have for me today detectives.” It was barely a question and Rafael nodded at Amaro and Carisi in the office as he said it.

“Heard you got a guilty verdict on the Parstens case, congratulations.”

“How did you-?” he started then shook his head, “God the gossip grapevine around here is fast. Why are you infringing on my celebratory dinner?”

Oliva shot him a sidelong look at his curtness and he gave her a tight, closed-mouth smile. He’d be nicer later, after he’d eaten. Maybe. “Picked two teenagers up this morning. Beat a guy in central park, hanged him from a tree. Officer found the guy not long after, sent him to Mercy General.”

“How did you find these two so quickly?”

“Bragged about it,” Amaro cut in. “On Facebook. Got a call this morning from a concerned classmate at Hudson.”

“Did the posts contain admission of guilt?”

Carisi shook his head, “No, just photos and a few lines - but they definitely put these two gonzos there at the time of the incident.”

“Okay, well, I might be able to make accessory stick with that. But I’m confused - how did this land on your desk?”

“The guy they hanged was black and on the spectrum,” Olivia regarded him under a fall of hair and he moved towards the small one-way mirror in her office. The young man on the other side was about as pasty and white as kids got.

“Was his accomplice white as well?”

“Lily,” this from Amaro and Rafael gave him an exasperated look.

“So you think we’re looking at a hate crime?”

“One way or the other,” Olivia stood from her desk, walking around it and leaning back on her hands against the wood. “Either because he was different or because he was… different.”

“Have they asked for representation yet?”

Olivia shook her head at him and he knew his grin was wolfish, “Well then, let’s see what they’ll admit to.”

“Are you going to stay and observe?”

Glancing at his watch he sighed, setting his briefcase down and shrugging out of his overcoat. “If you feed me I will.”

Olivia laughed, picking up the phone on her desk, “I think that can be arranged.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Roseline had spent the better part of an hour staring into her closet trying to decide what to wear to brunch on Sunday. After pulling half of her clothes out and scattering them around the small apartment she settled on a bright yellow patterned knee length dress left over from a wedding years ago. She paired it with purple accessories and decided that she looked like someone who brunched - or at least enough like one that she’d blend in. Some extra concealer under her eyes and a splash of bright lipstick meant she also looked vaguely human despite the three hours of sleep she’d gotten.

She missed sleep.

It was a beautiful autumn day, likely one of the last they’d have, so she took the 6 train uptown rather than make the switch, walking the three long blocks to the NoMad Hotel. It was unassuming from the outside, she would not have figured it as a go-to brunch spot for the tuxedo crowd, but once inside she realized her mistake. Somber men in navy suits glanced up at her from their Sunday _Times_ and she resisted the urge to hold her bag in front of her like a shield. The woman at the front desk directed her down a meandering hallway until she finally found a podium that looked like it belonged to a hostess.

“Barba?” she replied to the question, and followed the woman across the restaurant. He was facing away from them and stood as she walked by - jumping forward to pull the seat out for her before the hostess could. She smiled up at him, thanking him and the hostess as she took her menu.

“You look lovely,” Rafael said, sitting back in his chair and folding his napkin into his lap.

“So do you,” she smiled at him and meant it. He was wearing a pale blue suit jacket with light colored pants. His bright white shirt matched the white handkerchief in his pocket and she wondered how much time _he_ had spent getting ready this morning. The thought made her giggle and she lifted her menu to hide her face.

“Something funny?” he looked annoyed and she gave him her best winning smile.

“Just a stray thought,” she held his eyes for a moment, continuing to give him that warm smile and hoping that he didn’t ask any follow-ups because she didn’t have anything but the truth and no way in hell was she telling him _that._ “Were you waiting long?”

“I only just got here,” he turned his attention to the menu.

They ordered when their waiter arrived and Roseline reluctantly handed her menu to the young man. The silence at the table was awkward - he seemed different than he had been at the gala. More reserved if that was possible.

Finally, after the silence extended long enough that it was nearly a tangible thing she broke it “So what do you-“

“Are you from-“

They both stopped, staring at each other. “Please,” he motioned at her, “ladies first.”

She gave him a half-smile, “I was only going to ask what you did. Just something to talk about.”

He snorted a little, “I was going to ask where you were from so I don’t think either of us gets points for being clever today.”

She laughed, relieved by the way the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back at her. “So,” she asked, “since ladies first - when you’re not an International Man of Mystery - what do you do?”

“I’m an attorney.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head. “What kind?”

He shrugged, taking a drink from the water on the table, “Criminal.”

“Ah! ‘Your honor my client is innocent!’” She did her best lawyer impression, knocking her fist on the table loud enough that the silverware clanked and she sheepishly looked around to see if anyone noticed.

Luckily they hadn’t and he was still smiling at her, “More like ‘Your honor that man is guilty.’”

“Oh.” She watched him for a second before admitting, “Everything I know about lawyering I learned from movies. I can’t imagine it’s very correct.”

“Not very, no.”

“Give me an example,” she prompted.

“Well, first of all, it’s not called ‘lawyering’.”

She snorted, “Well that’s a given.”

“Second, there’s very few times I get to yell ‘Your honor that man is guilty!’ in a courtroom.”

“Aww,” she pouted on his behalf. “That’s too bad.”

“It’s quite frustrating, believe me.”

Their food came then and they chatted about the presentation, and then the flavors for a few minutes as they ate. He was pleasant, a little bit funny in his deadpan commentary - but she just wasn’t feeling that same spark of attraction that she had at the gala. Maybe his black magic only worked when he was in a tuxedo. Too bad.

“Are you from New York?” he asked as the waiter cleared the plates away.

She shook her head, “No, but we moved here when I was still young. I don’t really remember anything but the City.”

“Where from?”

“Haiti, via New Orleans,” she told him, watching his face closely. He didn’t show any of the too keen curiosity that statement sometimes elicited and she breathed a sigh of relief. “My family came over in the seventies, my brothers and sister remember it but I don’t.”

“You’re the youngest?”

She nodded, watching the waiter set the check down in front of him. She reached for her purse, “I can-“ but he cut her off.

“No no, of course not. I invited you out after all.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, the numbers on the menu had nearly given her a heart-attack and it had taken everything in her to even offer to split the check. He pulled her chair out, placing a hand at her waist as she walked ahead of him from the restaurant. She shivered at the contact - well that was nice, at least there was a _little_ something there. Tuxedo or no.

On the sidewalk he turned to her, eyes glancing up and down the street, “Can I call you a cab?”

She shook her head, “No, thank you. I took the train.”

Cursing herself she watched his face for a sign of a faux pas. Did people like him even take the subway anywhere anymore? Fuck it, he’d find out eventually and she chose not to worry about it. He was cute, cute enough that she asked, “Do you need to go?”

He looked at her for a moment. “I don’t actually. I closed a case this week so I’m as free as I ever am.”

“Would you like to,” she paused, then continued, “the Paley center has a new typewriter exhibition.”

A blink, “Typewriters?”

She closed her eyes and sighed, “It was the first thing I thought of.”

He was smiling at her - in heels she was the same height as he was, maybe even a little taller - and she found herself leaning towards him. His face changed, from happy to startled in half a second and he took a small step away. Shoving his hands in his pockets, rambling on about trusts or museums or something and she stared at him.

What the hell just happened?

Swallowing the question she wanted to ask she held her hand out, interrupting him, “Thank you very much for brunch. It was quite nice.” Quite nice until you got weird, she thought to herself. 

He stared at her hand like he’d never seen one before, slowly removing one of his own from his pockets and sliding it into hers. She gave it a quick squeeze, turning as she pulled away. It really _was_ toobad - she’d thought they’d had a spark but it seemed to be both not mutual and not really panning out. Ah well, at least she had gotten a meal out of this disaster.

Only, he didn’t let go. She looked at him, watching as he pulled her back to him. The back of her hand brushed his stomach and he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers.

Forget brunch. Forget flirtation. Forget caution and reason and the busy Manhattan sidewalk - put on the blue suede shoes and hop a midnight train to Georgia because when his lips met hers everything inside of her exploded into fireworks. She could hear bells and her hand gripped his as she lifted the other to clutch at the front of his jacket. He wrapped his other arm around her - pulling her body flush against his and _yes_ that was exactly what she wanted.

She moaned, parting her lips and tracing her tongue along his. He opened for her and she thrust inside, searching for and finding a warm welcome. God she was wet, amazingly so. Is this what instant chemical attraction was like? She could crawl in his clothes and eat him with a spoon.

He pulled away from her first, panting as he looked at her. She couldn’t see his expression - her eyes too unfocused as she stared at his lips.

“Typewriters?” he asked.

What the hell was-? Oh, _typewriters_. That had been her idea. “Or we could go somewhere and make out,” she suggested and felt him laugh.

“As heavenly as that sounds,” he disentangled her from his clothes, stepping away, “that’s moving a _bit_ fast don’t you think?”

Was this the same guy? The one who had just sucked on her tongue on the sidewalk? He smoothed his hands down his jacket, twitching the fabric into place as she furrowed her brow. Clutching her hands around her small wrist bag she took a steadying breath. She’d go to a slug exhibit if it meant getting a chance to kiss him again.

“Okay then, the typewriters.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rafael stared at the typewriter, next to it a small plaque read ‘Lewis Carroll’. Through the glass display case he could see Roseline examining it from the other side. It was boring, and he’d clerked patent law for a brief stint in college so he new boring. She seemed interested however, hardly sparing him a glance as they meandered their way through the exhibit.

He’d had to all but sit on his hands in the cab to keep from touching her. She’d chatted amiably with him, alternatively looking forward or out the window but not meeting his eyes. He still wasn’t sure what had happened in front of the hotel - what he had done wrong to make her look at him in that confused way and start to leave. But he had broken his first rule of dating - nothing in public - and kissed her. Because if he hadn’t he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get another chance and if there was ever a time to break rule number one it was then.

And thank god he had. The contact had spread through him like fire, his blood pounding in his ears. He hadn’t felt that kind of rush of adrenaline since he was a teenager. It had taken every ounce of willpower he’d had to pull away from her and although she’d protested he’d felt in his soul that he wanted to do this right. Not just a one night stand - although heaven knew he could use one of those too - but maybe two or three or twelve nights until she got sick of him.

Back at the museum, he sighed, eyeballing the rows of typing machines. They all looked the same to him, brass machinery, white or black keys. Some had a distinguishing feature or two - the one in the back corner with the peacock feathers in enamel on the side was quite pretty even he had to admit - but it was still thirty-seven typewriters sitting in a room. He sidled up next to her. 

“Are you honestly interested in this?” the whisper sounded loud in the deserted exhibit and she glanced at him before returning to her perusal.

“This was your idea.”

He scoffed, “It assuredly was _not_. You offered this up as something to do, not me.”

She turned to him, standing so close he could feel the warmth of her breath, “No, I said we should go somewhere and make out. _You_ picked the typewriters.”

So he had. That was very stupid of him. He glanced around the room. They were alone, the older couple that was there when they arrived had left ten minutes ago. It was certainly more private than the street had been. He considered it, but quickly dismissed the idea. It was ludicrous. There were security cameras and men watching in back rooms. No need to put on a show.

She seemed to follow his train of thought, sighing slightly when he turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with her. “Is there anything left to see?” he tried to keep the groan out of his voice as he asked.

A shrug, “I have no idea. I’m half convinced there’s only three actual typewriters in here - the rest is all smoke and mirrors.”

He laughed at that and slipped his hand into hers. He wasn’t going to kiss her - not here at least - but hand holding was tame, practically virginal.

Except it wasn’t. She stroked her thumb across the back of his hand and he felt his skin melt under her touch. The small movement went straight to his dick and he coughed, tightening his grip on her and leading them from the room and down the stairs into the lobby below.

And then they were on sidewalk again - the only thing to do was say goodbye or come up with another excuse to spend time with her. Would it be too obvious if he suggested something? Too needy? She was still holding his hand, staring up at the mid-afternoon sky. 

“Coffee?” He kept his voice neutral, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oh god, I’d _kill_ for coffee right now.”

He laughed, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and leading her down the block to Fifth. “Don’t do that, I’d hate to have to send you to jail.”

There were probably a hundred coffee shops between the Paley Center and 38th, but he took her there anyway - if only for the chance to sit next to her in the cab again. She turned to him this time, her knee just barely touching his. The bare skin called to him and he resisted the urge to run his fingers along it.

The espresso bar was quite full when they arrived and she pressed him to go find them seats. He’d tried to argue, but she seemed firm that, at least this one time, she was going to buy. Shrugging, he stalked the small seating area as she waited in line and grabbed two stools at the window counter within seconds of her walking back.

“Did you know they have cookies here,” holding up her prize with a delighted look on her face.

He gave her a little nod as they sat, “I did.” The man to his left was bumping into his back and he shifted his stool a little closer to hers until their thighs were pressed together. He took the espresso from her, sipping it and closing his eyes at the delicious bitterness.

Next to him, he watched from the corner of his eye as she broke off a piece of the cookie. Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned, pressing her fingertips to her lips. “Oh my _god_.” He wondered if he could make her make that same noise, that same face. “You have got to try this,” she broke off another piece, holding it out to him and in a moment of daring he leaned forward and captured it with his lips. In for a penny, in for a pound today he supposed. Her eyes on him were surprised, but they glazed over when he licked a bit of chocolate off the tip of her thumb. Or maybe there was nothing there at all - there was no reason for her to ever know that though.

She pulled her hand back slowly, then offered him another piece but he shook his head. Slipping it into her mouth he watched as she sucked on the tip of her thumb for a moment - her eyes not leaving his.

“I never asked what it is you do,” he was proud he kept his voice steady, taking refuge in years of speech training.

She smiled at him, “You mean since you can’t make a living in this town singing?”

“That is not what I meant,” he felt his eyebrows draw together at her tone.

“It’s okay,” her smile got brighter, “it’s true. I help run a bar down in the Village. It’s a family thing.”

“Barkeep by day, lounge singer by night?”

Laughing, she sipped at her coffee, “More like lounge singer by night, barkeep by even later night. The hours are _atrocious_. I’d almost forgotten what sunlight was until today.”

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled and caught her sly smile at him.

“Overworked are we?”

He laughed, the short sound bursting from him lips before he could stop it. “You could say that.”

“Poor thing,” the look she was giving him was anything but pitying, a little bit sideways and more than a little coy. He swallowed, spluttering a bit as the espresso burnt his throat.

“So,” she continued amicably, her voice deceptively casual, “What exactly do I have to do to get you to kiss me again?”

The blood in his body drained to his dick and he watched her with wide eyes for a moment before collecting himself, “A second date?”

A breath huffed out of her, “I meant tonight but I suppose I can control myself for a bit.”

One side of his mouth curled upwards into a smile as he studied her. He really should go out more often if girls - _women_ he heard Olivia correct him in his head - were this forward now. He had vague memories of ducking heads, making heated promises while trying to catch someone else’s lips with his. Stolen kisses given reluctantly and nearly always for a price. That had been before. Before he had given up his social life and moved to the Manhattan attorney’s office. It wasn’t this though, not frank proposals and sighs of disappointment. Not fingers tangled into his shirt on a busy street and eyes that couldn’t seem to look away from his lips. He licked at them unconsciously, watching her own part as he did so.

Hell, it was a brave new world out there - he fully intended to enjoy it.


	6. Chapter 6

Rafael leaned over his conference table, rubbing absently at the small of his back as he examined the case files strewn out in front of him. The American Bar Association had suggestions on yearly case load - for his office it was somewhere in the hundred, hundred-fifty range - but he couldn’t recall a year he’d had less than two hundred. A lot of those plead out guilty and cut deals, but at the SVU festival of he saids / she saids it was an exhausting merry-go-round of court dates and filings.

The buzz in the room made him lift his head, glancing at his Blackberry. It was silent - must be his personal phone then. Checking his watch it was near enough to lunch that he could and should probably stop soon anyway. In fact, yes, there was Samantha now with his sandwich and a fresh coffee.

God, she was the perfect assistant.

He sat down at the table, pushing aside a stack of folders and resting his feet on the heavy wood as he pulled the top off his coffee. Fishing in his briefcase he found the smartphone, unlocking it to see he had a new text from Rosaline.

- _So imagine for a moment…_

The phone was blank after that and he regarded it quizzically. Was that intended for him?

- _Your neighbor (whom you love dearly but is 115 if he’s a day) has, for the last month, left a single shoe in front of your door at some point in the evening. Do you…_

He couldn’t stop the small smile that played on his lips, leaning back in his chair and taking a bite of his sandwich. 

- _A: Leave the shoe back on his doormat every morning and not say anything  
__-B: Keep the shoes assuming you’ll eventually end up with a pair  
__-C: Throw the shoes at him when you see him because if he can’t take the heat he shouldn’t play the game_

Was she serious? He scanned the texts above this exchange, his invitation to brunch, her reply. Nothing in it that said he might be open to this kind of banter with a woman he had been on a single date with. A risk on her part then.

- _B, depending of course on the size of the shoe_ he replied. He liked risky moves. But as he hit send another text came through.

_-Or surprise option D: Write a long passive-aggressive note and leave it on his door because you tripped over one last night and hit your head and enough is enough already Frank_

He snorted into his coffee. Was this really how she was going to flirt with him? The phone buzzed again.

- _Frank has exceptionally small feet. I didn’t notice yours the other day but I don’t think they’d fit you._

_-Too bad. I can always use new shoes._

_-Oh, these are most definitely not *new*._

He glanced at his own shoes, grey leather Oxfords he’d bought for himself after he’d put away a drug cartel. They were several years old now, the soles scuffed and he noticed a nick in the right upper he hadn’t noticed this morning. What kind of day to day life was she living that someone left shoes on her doorstep each night? He took his last bite of sandwich, wadding the paper up and tossing it to his waste basket with practiced ease. Wiping his hands on a napkin he picked the phone up in one hand. _-Are you planning on being hungry Thursday?_

_-I could be convinced to be._

Chuckling, he sent her a place and time, looking up at the knock on his door. “Enter.”

“Counsellor,” Carisi entered the room first. Was he wearing a sweater vest? A bold choice and one that was definitely not working for him. Rollins strolled in behind him, raising an eyebrow at Rafael’s feet up on the conference table and nodding at him.

“Detectives,” he acknowledged, sliding his phone onto the table. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Those kids you arraigned yesterday?” Rollins leaned at the corner of the table from him, “One of them just made bail. Guess who ponied up the cash?”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her, “Who?”

“Reverend Scott Dickerman,” Carisi answered before Rollins could open her mouth, ignoring her exasperated look.

“Wait, the guy who preaches about how light skin makes you closer to god?” at Rollins’ nod he laughed to himself. “That’s not going to help them with the hate crimes charges. Don’t touch that.” Carisi jerked his hand back from the book he was cracking open. “Wait, just one? Why not the other?”

“We don’t know,” Rollins again.

“Do you think you can find out?” 

“Sure, but that’s not why we’re here,” Carisi crossed back behind Rollins, pacing the room and Rafael took a deep breath. The man was going to wear a path in the carpet if he kept that up every time he came by. “The problem is the kid on bail got caught trying to leave town.”

“Really?” Rafael breathed, pulling his feet from the table and leaning forward. “And where did he think he was going?”

“Get this,” Rollins smirked, “Argentina. Passport got dinged at the gate.”

“Argentina? What did he think he was going to do there?”

“Lot of nazis in Argentina.” Rollins and Rafael both turned to Carisi, the skepticism writ across their faces. “What? I saw a thing on the History Channel about it. After the War a lot of the old Nazis ended up in South America.”

“You think this kid is a _nazi_? Are you serious?”

“Maybe,” Carisi said defensively, “hate crime against a black guy, the Reverend Dickerman bailing him out - I’m just saying it looks like it might add up.”

Rafael stood, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Don’t make it look like it adds up - _add it up_. See what you can find. If one of these kids is a neo-nazi, hate crime just became a lot easier to prove. What about the other one?”

“Landgraff? He’s still in holding - couldn’t make bail.”

He jerked his chin at Rollins, “See if he wants to talk. With his buddy getting some free support, maybe he’ll turn something.”

Carisi and Rollins nodded, exiting out of the room. He looked at the work spread out before him. A rape, an assault, two cases of child endangerment… and now a nazi. What a job. Sighing, he gulped the last of his coffee down and tossed the cup in the trash. He thumbed the ringer of his personal phone all the way to silent - ignoring the blinking text indicator. Work was work, personal was personal. And lunch was over.


	7. Chapter 7

Roseline checked her phone for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. Nine oh eight. She’d told herself at eight oh five that he was probably just running late, and at eight fifteen that it wasn’t out of the question he’d had trouble getting a cab or missed a train. At eight thirty she ordered a cocktail, and at ten til nine a second. Now, she was studiously ignoring her waiter’s sidelong glances and counting bills onto the table. Took a dollar back, he was being quite rude after all - then reluctantly set it back down. She worked in the service industry, no way she was shorting someone on a tip - especially after camping at a table for the last hour.

Fuck, she’d actually been stood up.

Grabbing her jacket off the back of the chair, she crouched to retrieve her purse from under the edge of the table. When she stood she nearly ran into a warm body - or it into her more accurately.

“I know, I know, I’m late,” Rafael was out of breath, his knuckles white on his briefcase, “there was this interrogation and-“ He stopped, taking in the coat thrown over her arm, the two empty glasses on the table. “Were you leaving?”

“Yes,” although she didn’t move, “I’ve been sitting her for an hour. I’m hungry - and probably a little drunk.”

“They have food here.”

She gave him an exasperated look, “I’m not eating _here_ by myself. The waiter already thinks I’m a charity case as it is.”

“Oh.” He was blocking her exit but was either unaware or doing it on purpose. She waited. “Don’t have dinner alone. Have dinner with me.” Raising an eyebrow she crossed her arms over her chest. The half of a smile he gave her was rueful, a little self-deprecating, “I promise to be perfectly pleasant and quite even charming.”

She tried not to smile back, looking away from him as she set her purse and jacket back down. She heard his sigh of relief as she sat back into the chair - it was still warm.

He slouched across from her, picking up the menu and barely glancing at it before looking around for the waiter. He looked rumpled - oh, the suit still fit him like a glove, but it was definitely missing the slick, clean lines she’d started to associate with him. “Nice tie,” she commented - and it really was - solid color and greyscale stripes blending together. It matched his blue pocket square.

“Thank you,” he smoothed his hand along it, glancing down. The waiter arrived then and he looked up, “Glenmorangie, neat.” He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised in question and she nodded, “and whatever the lady is drinking. Also, we’re ready to order.”

After he handed his menu off he leaned forward, re-arranging the content of the table, pushing glasses and salt shakers to the side. “Much better,” he congratulated himself when he finished, “I could barely see you behind all of that.” He leaned back again, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin on his fingers. He was silent, studying her under lowered brows.

Well, two could play at that game. She turned slightly sideways, leaning back and resting her arm on the back of her own chair, the tips of her fingers at her temple. She blinked at him, slowly, and watched the grin spread across his face.

“How was your day?”

She chuckled, “Better than yours I’d imagine.”

“It would almost have to be.”

“Care to talk about it?”

He sighed, “I’d like to but can’t. I hope you understand, there’s ethical considerations…” he waved a hand in the air and tilted his head. “Tell me about yours.”

Shrugging, “We rehearsed this afternoon - I’ve got a couple of new songs I want to add in and Mike - he’s the harmonica player - he’s new. Misses a lot of cues, solos that go on too long. You know, the usual things.”

“I really don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“Know,” he clarified, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “I really don’t know anything about it. Tell me.”

She leaned forward too, cupping her hands around her elbows as she started talking. About the bars and the late nights, the back alleys and parties and politics. Both ignored the waiter when he brought their drinks.

“Have you ever considered doing a record?”

Sipping from her glass she grinned at him, “I’m talking to someone right now actually, about doing a full record. We had a single a couple of years ago - got a little bit of radio play.”

“Really? What was the song?”

“‘Sell My Jewelry’,” Humming a little, she sang to him softly, “ _Hock my diamonds, pawn my pearls. I ain’t no material girl._ ”

Shaking his head he sipped at his whiskey, “I can’t say that I recognize it.”

She laughed, “I don’t doubt it. I think they only played it around three or four in the morning - country stations mostly. After about a couple of weeks they quit playing it at all. It’s hard to get a blues album out there.”

“I imagine so,” he was watching her face and she noticed how the candlelight flickered over his skin, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. She resisted the urge to reach out and stroke him. “How often do you perform?” he asked.

“Six or seven times a month, more in the summer. Actually, we’re playing the Dust Bar this Friday - the band we had booked cancelled.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“The Dust Bar? Really? We’re practically an institution on Bleecker.”

He shook his head at her and she frowned a bit.

“Well, you’re missing out. They’re the best bar in town.”

She leaned forward into her arms again, noticing how his eyes dipped into the low vee of her wrap dress. As cool and calm as he was playing, it was gratifying to note that he at least _noticed_ that she was a woman.

Their food arrived and Roseline tried to be ladylike about it, she really did. But she was starving and after a couple of minutes she realized that they had been eating in silence and she looked up at him around a forkful of pasta.

He was giving her a serious look, his own food barely touched. “I shouldn’t have made you wait.”

She shrugged, “It’s fine. Although a call or something next time would be nice.”

“Next time?” He looked a little surprised and she resisted the urge to pet his hand.

“Yes next time, when you take me somewhere a little seedy where the drinks are too strong and the music too loud so we have to duck out early.” She bit her lip and fluttered her eyelashes at him, “Then you invite me back to your place for a nightcap.”

He laughed, “You have it all planned out do you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded and he laughed as he dug into his food with more vigor than he showed before.

He insisted on paying again and the feminist in her put up even less of a fight than the last time. She wasn’t proud of that but he practically puffed up with pleasure when he took the leather check book from the waiter and smoothly slid his card inside. It was adorable.

He waited for her to step in front of him as they left, placing his hand at her waist just like the last time and she shivered at the contact. Outside, she shrugged into her white peacoat, not bothering to button it as she stepped to the side of the building. “Well.”

“Well?”

She smiled at him, leaning back against a dark corner of the wall outside the restaurant. It was shielded on one side by the back of the entryway, the other by a low wall. It was practically private. “I kept up my end of the bargain.”

His eyebrows drew together, “What bargain?”

“I had dinner with you.”

It took him a moment to catch on but when he did he made a small movement with his mouth - like he was going to say something but couldn’t find the words. She wondered what he would do if she just grabbed him by that beautiful striped tie and pulled him over to her. Probably get pissed she’d creased it.

He glanced each way on the street and then stepped into her space, one hand resting on the wall by her head while the other slipped around her hip beneath the coat. His lips were soft on hers for a moment before he pressed into her, his hand tightening at her waist and a low moan rising from his throat.

Or maybe that was hers.

It was every bit as magical and life-shattering as the first time. Blood rushed through her veins, she could feel her body throbbing. Her hands rose to cup his neck, the soft cotton of his shirt contrasting with the stubble on his jaw.

She felt his tongue trace her bottom lip and instantly parted, but he just slowly licked at her. The pull of her fingers did nothing to speed him up and it wasn’t until she touched her own tongue to his that he deepened the kiss. This was exactly what she had been waiting all night for. Fire and ice and the low thrumming between her legs. It tried to convince her that they weren’t _that_ much in public and who would notice a couple of people slipping off to fuck in a back alley. His hand was at the small of her back now, pulling her body flush against his and she felt his hard dick press into the juncture of her thighs.

This time, they definitely _both_ moaned.

Gasping she broke away from him, his big palm was hot against her back even through the material of her dress. He stared at her, his eyes glassy, and she muttered “ _Fuck_ ,” before pulling him back to her.

They kissed for what felt like hours, soft sighs and bodies just barely rubbing against each other. When he rested his forehead against hers their panting breaths mingling in the cool October air. “I want you,” she whispered, watching his pupils dilate.

He looked like he was having an argument with himself, finally saying, “I _can’t_. I have to write two complaints tonight so we have them in the morning when the judges are in.”

“I can be very fast,” she told him with a smile and he laughed against her, the tips of his fingers tracing against her back.

He tipped her chin up and kissed her softly, “But I don’t want to be.”

That was admirable of him, really, and she appreciated it. Well, she would in about an hour - after she had gotten herself off with her vibrator and could think straight again. “Okay, then - when?”

“Tomorrow?”

She shook her head, “I can’t I have a gig.”

“What about after?”

She cocked her head, “Three am?”

“Ok, no on that. I have a dinner engagement Saturday, but those drinks you mentioned maybe? After?” Nodding, she stared at his mouth - pulling him back to her even as he huffed, “I have to go.”

The kissed for another few minutes before he managed to pull himself completely away from her, popping her into a cab and watching after her as they rounded the corner. She checked the time and stopped the driver a block later, handing him a ten dollar bill and getting out to catch the subway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barbara Blue sings 'Sell My Jewelry' … https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RBxeYIM_HA


	8. Chapter 8

_I need a little sugar in my bowl  
__I need a little hot dog on my roll  
__I can stand a bit of lovin’, oh so bad  
__I feel so funny, I feel so sad_  

She hummed to herself, half singing and half mumbling her way through the verse. She was thinking of hands, of forearms, of a long vaguely aristocratic nose and sharp eyes and seeking tongue and by god those _hands_ …

“Roseline!” 

She nearly dropped the mop and cursed loudly. “Yes papa?”

“You done up there yet?”

“Almost!”

She slid the wet mop head into the corner of the stage, loving the way the floor dried to a shiny finish. Picking up the heavy bucket of dirty water she crossed behind the bar, pouring it into the sink. From the corner of her eye she saw her father coming up the stairs and thrust her hand out with the mop. He grumbled as he took it, disappearing back down the stairs. The sink got a quick wipe with the sponge and she waited for him to come back before starting.

“I stocked up when I got here so you should be good on wine and most beer. You’re about out of Corona - the new flock of NYUers just cannot seem to get enough of it. Also, that new pear cider sells really well, you should double up on next month’s order.” She patted his arm as she went around the bar and he nodded along, balancing the three cash drawers.

“Did you call Mr Fortnam about the lights?”

“Fortnam is a plumber, what the hell is wrong with the lights?”

He gave her a confused look as he slide the first drawer in. “No, Presscott is the plumber, Fortnam is electrical.”

“Unless there is water coming out the upstairs lights you want to call Ignacius.”

“Oh yeah,” he slid the last drawer in with a clatter and leaned over the bar to her, “What does Presscott do?”

“I have no idea, I think you just made him up.”

He laughed, re-arranging the glasses she had just spent fifteen minutes organizing and she rolled her eyes. “Well did you call Mr Ignacius about the lights?”

“No, what’s wrong with the lights?”

“They flicker.”

Sighing, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “What kind of flickering are you…” at the same moment the phone began to buzz in her hand and she held a finger up in the universal ‘just one moment’ gesture. “Hello?” It was Beatrice Graemse, society matron and probably Roseline’s biggest supporter for City events.

“This Tuesday?” Roseline rummaged into her purse, pulling out three packs of gum and a bra before finding her day planner. Tucking the phone into the nook of her shoulder she flipped through it, “Yeah, I think we can do that, I’ll need to call the guys but…”

Her father was shaking his head, waving his hands in front of him and pointing down at the bar.

“I’m sorry, can you hold a moment?” she pressed the mute button and stared at him. “ _What_ papa?”

“You need to cover here on Tuesday, I have my doctor thing that morning yes?”

She closed her eyes and said a short prayer, “Can’t Jeremy do it?”

He shook he head vehemently, “He has no head for the business, remember what happened last time?”

“Papa, you have to start trusting _someone_ with this place-“

“I trust you.”

She smiled at him before remembering she was annoyed, “Someone who isn’t me, someone who can manage the bar. I have another job papa…” she glanced at the phone in her hand. “I can’t keep Mrs Graemse waiting longer, are you going to ask Jeremy to cover on Tuesday?”

“No, we’ll shut the doors. It’s just a Tuesday.”

“No, Tuesday is open mic, you can’t…” sighing she thumbed the phone off of mute. “Hi, I am so sorry, it looks like we can’t make it. I know, I know, I thought we could make it work but it’s just too short notice. Yes, yes of course. Please keep us in mind for the future. Thank you too.”

The phone made a loud clunking noise as she dropped it onto the bar top. “Papa,” he waved his hands in the air before she got to the second syllable. “Papa…” she tried again.

“I know you’re busy,” he interrupted her, “but you need to prioritize what’s really important cherie.”

“Just because you and I have different ideas of what is important-“

“ _Tradition_ is important, _Institution_ is important, _Family_ is important. Not this running about caterwauling all over town.”

“I do _not_ caterwaul-“

“You should be focusing on the business, you’re forty years old and you can’t keep-“

She interrupted him this time, “I am also not _forty_ for fuck’s sake.”

“Nearly forty-“

“ _Nearly forty is not forty._ ” He shrugged and tugged on a handful of her braids. “And this isn’t my business papa, it’s yours.”

“It’s the _family_ business.”

She sighed, “Then where’s Alex? Or Patrick? Or Ana? Why don’t you call them when things go wrong?”

“They have their families, their job - you… _don’t._ ”

She grabbed her jacket, clutching it in her fist as she quickly took the steps up the door.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped, shrugging into the wool, “I’m not working tonight - I told you that ages ago.”

“You have a thing tonight?” Always a ‘thing’ - never a gig, never a job, her father always called it a ‘thing’ because of course to him it wasn’t real.

“No,” she pulled her hair from the collar, letting it fall down the back of the coat, “I have a date, I have things to do, and god forbid but I do have a _life_ outside of the Dust Bar papa.”

The door slammed behind her and she winced on the other side at the sound, the cool air on the city street hitting her skin and making her shiver. She felt fifteen again. She _sounded_ fifteen again. Grown ass women should not be stomping and slamming doors. But _god_ he made her so mad sometimes. 

She checked her watch, not even seven pm which meant more than enough time to swing by the market, make something for dinner, get ready, and still meet Rafael in Midtown by ten. Or more likely, microwave something, take a nap and then frantically try and get out the door in time to take the subway and then give up and take a cab.

She could use a drink. Or four. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bessie Smith sings ‘I need a little sugar in my bowl’…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=meuwKhPGItk


	9. Chapter 9

Rafael checked his watch for what felt like the fortieth time as he walked into the bar. Dammit, he was late again - by no where near as much as the last time but still. He scanned the length of the bartop, then the tables. There she was, sitting sideways to him, he could see a long stretch of bare thigh where her skirt rode up over her crossed legs. The maroon dress she was wearing seemed almost conservative from this angle.

Next to her, a young businessman was leaning into her space, his fingers reaching out to tug at one of her braids. She was smiling at him. Ok, maybe he wasn’t “young” - mid-thirties - but still practically a child compared to himself.

Rafael debated just leaving, for just a heartbeat he did. But he had never, in forty-three years of being alive, backed down from a fight. It was stupid, a character flaw at the deepest level and had cost him many a black eye when he was younger. He crossed the room, cutting through the low sofas and tables until he stopped next to her. The man noticed him first, “Can I help you?”

When Roseline looked up at him she smiled, a genuine smile not that fake one she had been wearing moments before. He could tell the difference in a heartbeat. “You’re here! Sit,” she patted the seat next to her, if he took it he would have to squeeze in between her and the businessman. So of course he did. She leaned into him, raising a hand to his cheek and kissing him for a long moment that must have been uncomfortable for the man beside him. Fuck him.

“Mike here was just telling me about the building he designed, somewhere on the Upper West?”

“The Bellamy Building, on 86th,” the smug smile didn’t help his rat-like features Rafael decided.

He slipped an arm around Rosaline’s waist, turning with the haughtiest expression he had to ‘Mike’. “Oh? I thought that was Rassmusen’s project?”

Mike shifted in his seat, “Oh well, of course Rassmusen was consulted but-“

“Consulted? I saw him last week and he wouldn’t shut up about it. Said it was the greatest work he’d ever done.”

The other man looked at the two of them for a moment and then grabbed his drink and left, muttering darkly to himself. Rafael could feel her body shaking under his arm and he turned back to her with a smirk. “Do you think it was it something I said?”

She kissed him again and he let her before pulling back and looking for a waitress. After placing his order he leaned back, turning his body towards her and placing his other hand on her knee. 

“You’re late,” she told him, “again.”

“I know - there was some kind of motorcade uptown - got stuck on Lexington forever.”

“Should I read anything into this?”

“Like what?”

Sighing, “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

His brows drew together and he squeezed her knee, “No, it’s just crummy timing and some bad luck.”

Nodding, she sipped at her cocktail and he watched her. He was right in his initial assessment - the dress covered her from neck to nearly knee, only riding up when she crossed her legs. Somehow, guessing what she had on under it was more tantalizing than seeing the skin would have been. He wondered if she’d done it on purpose. Smiling, he reached up push one of her braids behind her ear, startling when she jerked her head away from him.

He pulled his hand back quickly, flushing and grateful for the interruption of the waitress as he paid for the drink and immediately drained half.

“No,” Roseline put her hand on his leg, he could feel the warmth of it through his pants, “I’m sorry, it’s not… People always want to touch my hair. That guy earlier, I nearly punched him for doing it. It’s sort of automatic to not… have… people…” She sighed, “This is a long way of saying it’s not you it’s me and if you wanted to touch me again…” at that she gave him a slow wink, “I promise I’m one hundred percent amenable.”

Slowly, he slid his hand up her back until he could caress the nape of her neck with his fingertips. Her skin was smooth and silky beneath his touch and she leaned into him, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opened them he could read the invitation there, clear as day. _Kiss me_. 

Her hand had slipped down, cupping against the inside of his thigh. Not too high, not indecent, but it didn’t take any mental gymnastics to imagine those fingers sliding higher. Fuck, he was already half-hard.

They stared at each other - the tension between them growing thick and heated, the noises of the bar fading until they might as well have been alone. He could hear his own pulse, swore he could see hers at the base of her neck.

“I’m not going to kiss you here,” he told her firmly. It was too public, not at all appropriate.

“What if I kiss you?”

She didn’t let him answer, raising her other hand to his tie and pulling him the few inches to meet her mouth. She tasted like oranges and bourbon and something uniquely _her_ that filled his senses and made him want to do something stupid.

He pulled away. “You are a witch.” He was almost entirely serious, smiling inwardly at the delighted look that came to her eyes.

His tie was still caught in her fingers and he let her tug him towards her a little. “Do you want to get out of here?”

_God yes_. He tried to keep his face impassive, play it at least a little close to cool. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine’s in the Village,” she pouted, running the silk of his tie between two fingers, “Yours?”

“Here in Midtown.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded, leaning into her as she tugged him closer and gave him a short, hard kiss. When she let him go she rose smoothly to her feet, balanced and graceful in four inches of heels that made her legs look like they went on for miles. He admired her for a moment before standing, only then realizing that she was a good inch taller than him in them. It didn’t bother him a bit.

She shivered on the street and he offered her his jacket which she politely refused, snuggling under his arm and against his body instead while they waited for a cab with its light on. He opened the door for her, giving the driver his address and then he was being kissed again.

Her hands slipped into his jacket, cold against his warmth and he shuddered. Her tongue was in his mouth one moment, licking at the corners the next and he chased it, cupping her face in his hands and leaning to her. Neither of them noticed the cab stopping until the irate “ _Ahem_ ” broke the trance they were in. Flushing with embarrassment he swiped his credit card quickly, helping Roseline from the car and leading her by the hand into his building.

“Evening Jimmy,” he told the doorman and ignored the look he gave them. Rafael held her hand at the elevator, watching her fidget next to him until the doors finally opened. They stood shoulder to shoulder inside until the moment the door closed and then she was on him again, her leg hooked over his hip as he cupped her ass and pulled her body to him. The elevator continued to beep slowly as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Finally the doors slid open and he half walked, half-carried her into the small hallway - fumbling for his keys.

The door to the apartment had barely closed when she pushed him against it, falling to her knees in one graceful motion and unbuttoning his pants. Was she really about to…? He shrugged out of his jackets, slipping his suspenders off his shoulders so she could push his pants and underwear over his hips. Then her hands were on him and he forgot how to breath.

“Fuck,” he moaned as her long fingers wrapped around him - then gasped loudly when he felt her mouth engulf the head of his dick. He cupped his hands behind her head, watching her mouth slide down his skin. Her eyes were on his, watching his face as she sucked him off.

It was too much stimulation, he’d been without a partner for far too long and if she kept up what she was doing he was going to embarrass himself by coming within heartbeats. He could already feel it, feel his toes curling and his balls tightening and he jerked himself from her mouth.

Leaning his head back against the door, his jaw worked as he tried to find the words, words that weren’t going to be humiliating, words that weren’t the truth. He felt more than heard her stand up, listening to the soft rustle of fabric that followed. Then she was pulling on his tie and when he opened his eyes she was backing away, leading him forward. And she was beautifully, gloriously naked.

His breath escaped him in a rush and he let her pull him along, past his living room and into the bedroom. She pulled him close at the edge of the bed and he took his cue, settling her down and stretching out beside her. His mouth found her nipple immediately, one of his hands skimming down her stomach - hesitating before she arched under his fingertips. 

She was wet for him already and he sucked harder on her nipple as he slipped his middle finger inside of her. She moaned, one of her hands going to his neck and the other scratching down the back of his shirt. He glanced down, at his third favorite tie lying along her stomach and his hand disappearing between her thighs. Cursing inwardly, he fought for control and thrust another finger into her, the heel of his hand rubbing at her clit.

“Yes,” she moaned and he sucked on her harder, picking the pace of his hand up as well. She squirmed beneath him, her breath coming in short pants until finally she was begging him to let her come. He slipped his fingers out, slicking them forward and rubbing at her clit in short sharp circles and she came apart beside him.

When her breathing had returned to a somewhat normal rhythm she pulled at his collar and he moved up, pressing his mouth to hers until their tongues intertwined. Her eyelashes fluttered open and she frowned at him. “You’re wearing too many clothes Rafael.”

He sat up quickly on his knees - tugging at his tie and tossing it god only knew where in the room. She sat up next to him, undoing the buttons from the bottom of his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders when they met halfway. The undershirt flew off to join his tie in the land of who-gives-a-fuck and he took a moment to contemplate the most graceful way to get out of his pants. She was licking against his chest, running her tongue up his neck and then sucking on his earlobe. Fuck it, he pulled her to him as he lay on his back, pulling the condom from his wallet and pushing his pants and underwear off - kicking them to the floor while he distracted her with a deep kiss.

They they were skin to skin and Rafael said a quick prayer for fortitude. She slid her thigh over his hips, rising above him and he gaped up at her. She took the condom from his loose fingers, slowly rolling it down his dick before she set him against her entrance and they moaned together as she sank down. Skin reflected the city light and his hands looked practically white where they gripped her thighs. She rode him, rocking her hips, her fingers playing with her nipples and he gasped. He reached between them, seeking her clit again but she grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers and shaking her head at him.

“You take this one,” she told him and she squeezed him inside of her. He saw stars and came hard, his mouth working soundlessly as he tightened his hand in hers. When he opened his eyes she was looking down at him, her countless little braids falling around her shoulders and a soft smile on her face. He reached up, feeling her fall into his arms and rolled them to their sides. They stayed like that for a long moment before he regretfully sighed and got up.

The bed looked neat, almost tidy, as he walked out of the bathroom. She was sitting in the middle of it, her knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped loosely around them. He studied her as he crossed the room and sat on the edge. 

The smile she gave him was half-mocking and he saw the wariness in her eyes as she said, “Should I go?”

He’d just been wondering if he should try and convince her to stay - certain that she would already be up and half-dressed before he’d exited the bathroom. Was she really worried he was going to kick her out? He wrapped one hand around her arm, pulling her towards his side and laying them down until he could pull her head to his shoulder. “I’d be terribly offended if you did.”

He felt her smile against his skin and tugged at the blankets around them until he had wrapped them in a cocoon of thousand thread count sheets. She was asleep before he finished, her soft breaths against his skin lulling him to sleep as well.


	10. Chapter 10

The morning light stung at Roseline’s eyes and she cracked them open to see Rafael struggling to extricate himself from the tangle of sheets. He cursed softly, looking over his shoulder at her and she shut her eyes quickly. It was kind of sweet actually.

She waited for him to get up and gave him a few minutes. When the bedroom door clicked behind him she smiled and stretched into the soft sheets. Glancing around the room she picked up his shirt from the night before off the floor, doing up a couple of the buttons as she followed him.

He was on the phone in the kitchen with his back to her, futzing with a french press. She hung back, crossing part of the living room to look out the floor to ceiling windows. If she stood just right she could see the Chrysler Building. Smiling, she glanced at him again. Whomever he was talking to must not have been listening well because he kept interrupting them until finally he finished the call with a curt, “Okay, yes. Thank you.”

“Good morning,” she called out. Cursing, he spun to her - press in one hand and his phone in the other. Wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung navy sweat pants he looked good enough to eat. Rolling up the cuffs of his shirt she watched him watch her - she couldn’t help but stare at the two long dangling laces at the front. Now _that_ was a crime right there - those laces were practically begging to be be untied. With her teeth. When she looked up at his face he was staring, alternating between her bare legs and the gaping front of his shirt as it stretched over her breasts.

“Did I wake you?” he asked finally.

“No. Are you making coffee?”

Startled, he glanced down at his hands, placing the phone on the table at the window and the press on the counter. “Yes, and I just ordered some breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you might want so I just guessed…” he trailed off as she slipped her hands around his waist, pressing herself to his back and resting her chin on his shoulder. Blowing a breath out he covered her hands with his.

“Good morning,” she said again, kissing his cheek.

“Good morning.”

“Do you mind if I borrow this shirt for a bit?”

He groaned, turning around and gathering her to him in a long kiss. “Not at all, it looks good on you,” he said finally as the whistle of the kettle behind him broke the silence. He added the water to the pot, leaning past her to set it on the table.

“How long is that going to take?” she asked.

“Couple minutes.”

“Okay,” and then they were in each other’s arms again. This was really the best part of any new relationship she mused as his hands lifted the back of the shirt to cup her ass. Bodies still new to each other, can’t keep your hands off each other, totally enraptured by one another - it was _great_.

Rafael apparently had an internal timer for perfect coffee because when he broke away and poured her a cup it tasted like dark velvet on her tongue. “Oh _Jesus_ Rafael,” she moaned and he smiled at her, raising one eyebrow as he sipped his own cup. He pulled a large padded dining chair out for her, sitting by her side at the table as they stared out the glass windows beyond. They sat in silence, thighs pressed under the table and leaning against each other slightly. It was, all in all, quite nice.

A knock at the door startled her from her reverie and Rafael quickly answered it, handing the man on the other side a few bills and returning with two large sacks. Pancakes and smoothies and fruit and bacon and biscuits and scones and jams - she finally held a hand up to him laughing, “How many people are you feeding?”

“You today,” he smiled, “and me for the rest of the week it looks like.”

“I will take the crepes and whatever that yellow smoothie is, and bacon. You can pass all of the bacon this direction thank you.”

“You are sharing that bacon,” he told her firmly, passing the containers she had named her way and claiming pancakes for himself. He emptied the french press, quickly setting it up for another round and starting the kettle to boil water.

They argued but in the end he won the rights to half of the bacon over her heated protests and even more heated promises. Sipping coffee in the bright morning light they had the conversation they should have had the night before - about how their days had gone and the humdrum drama that made up life. And so what if her hand lingered on his thigh when she laughed at a joke he made or if his fingers reached up to brush against her neck when she asked him a question. The domesticity of the scene didn’t mean they were _dead_.

“Are you planning on leaving soon?” his voice sounded nonchalant - almost deliberately so as he stacked the boxes from breakfast neatly to the side of the table.

“Well, if I leave now I’ll have to do a slut strut and while it doesn’t really bother me-“

“Excuse me,” he interrupted, holding one hand up, “a _what_ strut?”

“A slut strut,” she grinned at him, “it’s like the walk of shame, but when you have no shame at all because last night was _amazing_.”

The delighted expression that spread across his face made her heart skip a beat and she stood up rather than kiss him. If she kept kissing him every time he looked handsome he was going to think she was only after him for his body. She glanced coyly back at him over her shoulder, then again if he made the move on _her…_ “So, like I was saying, I don’t really mind it _but_ I also didn’t really have any plans for today…”

He set his coffee down on the table with a loud clatter and followed her like a magnet to a lodestone, pressing his chest to her back and slipping his hand to her thigh, “I just have paperwork.” He kissed her neck and she sighed. “But I always have paperwork.” His other hand deftly undid the uppermost button of his shirt she was wearing, slipping inside to cup her breast. “No matter what I do, there’s always paperwork…” He groaned into her skin. “So. Much. _Paperwork._ ” He punctuated each word with a rolling movement of his hips that made her knees weak.

“I feel like,” she gasped as his fingers tweaked her nipple, “there’s an innuendo here about filing things but I’m having trouble seeing it.” She leaned back to him, letting him turn her and she made a squeaking noise as he suddenly lifted her onto the edge of the table. Without even thinking about it she spread her legs, giving him room to step between them and press the soft cotton of his pants to her. He was already hard and she moaned and tilted her head back so he could run his tongue down her neck.

The shirt fell off her shoulders, the soft blue cotton pooling against her hands and the frosted glass tabletop. His thumbs were on the inside of her thighs, pressing her legs wider as he rubbed against her and they moved together. The laces on the front of his sweatpants slid through her fingers and he bit her skin as she dipped her hand inside to cup him.

“Condoms,” he gasped out and she stifled a giggle. His forehead was sweaty, his hair still mussed from the night before and he looked positively torn as he thrust himself into her palm.

“My purse is still by the door…”

He moved so quickly she felt a draft and before she could wonder what was happening he was back, pressing the small leather bag into her hand and then lifting her hips up to him as he leaned down and kissed her. Her arms wrapped around his neck as if they had to, his shirt brushing against her sides and his bare chest. Their tongues stroked for a long moment and his groan was strained as he mumbled, “For fuck’s sake Roseline, focus.”

Focus on - oh, yes, the condom. She searched for it blindly, holding onto his neck as his heated kisses leaned her backwards. The time between her victorious ‘ah ha’ and him jerking it from her fingers could be measured in nanoseconds and they worked together until he was pushing inside of her and their joint gasps of relief filled the air. 

He didn’t waste time with subtlety, his hips pumping into hers quickly and she cried out from the sensations. It was beautiful and erotic and amazing and so many other words she couldn’t find because the moment she thought of them his thumb inched inwards and slid against that spot just above his cock. That spot that made her thighs tremble and her hands tighten in his hair and then he did it again and again and suddenly everything narrowed to that one point. His hips shuddered against her and she kissed him and they were for a brief moment the only two people in the world.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Samantha!” Rafael shuffled through the papers on his conference table, the transcript from the interrogation was just here a moment ago - how could he possibly lose something in the span of five minutes?

“Yes Mr Barba?” 

He started, looking up from the mess he’d just created. Samantha stood in the doorway, notepad and mobile phone in one hand, pen poised and ready in the other. He should really ask about getting her a raise. “When is my meeting with Harrison?”

“Judge Harrison canceled this morning - I told you when you came in this morning.”

“Oh, that’s right. And the weekly meeting got moved too, didn’t it?”

“Yes sir.”

He cocked his head, “Does that mean I’m actually meeting-less for a couple of hours?”

She nodded and he drummed his fingers on the heavy wood of the table. He stared off into space for a moment then checked his watch. “I’ll be going out for lunch today, hold my calls unless it’s important.” Samantha nodded and closed the door behind her as she ducked out.

He lifted his personal phone from his overcoat and hit the number before he really thought of doing anything else.

“Morning sexy.” Roseline’s voice when she answered sounded gruff, a little bit gravelly.

Smiling he perched on the edge of the conference table, “Morning yourself. I was wondering if you were free for lunch.” She made a sound and it took him a moment to realize she was yawning. “Did I wake you up?” The dark silver watch on his wrist said it was just past eleven but that didn’t really mean anything.

“No no,” another yawn, “I am wide awake and ready to eat the day.” A long pause while they both contemplated the malaphor. “You’re downtown right?”

“Centre Street.”

“Nice, nice…” some grumbling followed and he heard a thump and then a loud curse. “How about I meet you over there at say… noon?”

“Send me a message when you’re on your way and I’ll meet you.”

“Okay.” More muffled cursing and the line went dead. He turned back to the work, forty-five minutes was just enough time to get the paperwork organized enough for him to tackle it after lunch.

 

* * *

 

Rafael tucked his hands in his pockets - he should have brought his gloves - and scanned the street for Roseline’s dark hair. A passing paralegal caught his eye and he nodded at him. The man did decent work and wanted a letter of recommendation. Another item to add to the list of things to do.

“Hey sailor, looking for a good time?”

By habit he scanned who was close enough to hear the comment - no one was - before turning around and smiling at her. Her black leather jacket and jeans made her look edgy and tough - and about forty different kinds of out of place among the power suits of the people around them. But damn if she didn’t look hotter than anyone had a right to on a Tuesday afternoon.

Her eyebrow was raised and he suddenly realized he’d been staring at her for longer than was probably comfortable and he cleared his throat and stepped towards her. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she replied, scanning him front head to toe. “Is this,” she reached up and rubbed her fingers along the lapels of his overcoat, “fuzzy?” Before he could answer she stepped into his arms, pressing her cheek to his chest and rubbing against the soft material.

Jesus, they were in public, on Centre Street even, his colleagues and superiors could walk by at any moment. Probably already were. “Please,” he started but she was tucking her hands under the lapels, pulling him to her and then they were kissing and he forgot about everything but her mouth. It wasn’t until a cold gust of wind made her press even closer to him that he came to - jerking away from her with a start. “Not here.” She sighed, smoothing a hand over his coat and stepping away, hooking her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Is this okay?” 

Running a hand down his lapels he nodded, glancing around to see if they had an audience but no one seemed to be pointing and staring. “For the record,” she continued, “you shouldn’t wear such soft inviting things if you don’t want me to touch you.”

“I _do_ want you to touch me,” he corrected her, “but there’s a time and place don’t you think?”

Her nonchalant shrug wasn’t very reassuring and he led her a few blocks away to a hole in the wall Italian place that served the best tiramasu in New York. Mostly so he could watch her eat it. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Oh my fucking _god_ ,” she moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as she licked at her spoon. “That is better than se-“ She cut herself off, looking at him over the shared plate. “Okay, better than _most_ sex. Sweet jesus Rafael, how do you work so close to this place and not get fat?”

“Iron self-control,” he told her, taking his own spoonful and savoring the creaminess. “Also, I nearly never have enough time to come over here. That helps.”

“Well that is a _crime_ sir. You should prosecute someone for that.” She gestured with the spoon and he smiled back at her. “So tell me, how did you end up in Manhattan?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m from here. I grew up on 158th.”

Shaking her head she offered him a spoonful of the dessert and he glanced around before taking it, “No, I mean, I googled what you do. Because that’s what people do these days - and being a District Attorney in Manhattan is hard. You have to be _really good_.” He felt his eyebrows draw together and she quickly over-rode his next sentence, “Not that you’re not really good! Probably! I don’t know. But it doesn’t seem like the kind of job you can come straight out of school to - unless you did. Oh my god you did, didn’t you? Are you some kind of law prodigy?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at how wide her eyes got as she finished her rambling and he pushed the plate of dessert to her slightly as he sat back in his chair. “You’re right, it’s a hard job to get. I requested the transfer six times before I got approved.” He smirked at her, “And I _am_ very good. I don’t know about prodigy good…”

She giggled slightly and set the spoon aside, smiling at their waiter as he cleared the table. “So, back to my original question, where were you before?”

“Brooklyn.”

“You’re kidding.” When he nodded at her she started laughing, “I grew up in Flatbush. My family still lives there.”

“Really? I would have figured you for a Heights kid.”

“Oh god no,” she snorted then looked at him. “What exactly is that supposed to mean anyway?”

Fourteen answers came to his head, all of them made him sound like either a classist asshole or a lovesick fool. Flushing, he looked around for the waiter, motioning the man over and asking for the check. Roseline watched him with a sideways smile while he paid the man and he pulled her chair back for her as she gathered her coat. 

Outside, she looped her hand into his arm again, “I’m still waiting for an answer Rafael.”

Well, if she didn’t already know he was besotted with her she was about to… “People from the Heights they have this character, this sort of _soul_. You go up there in the summer and the streets thrum so much they practically dance. I could see you there - that kind of music is in your bones.”

She stopped, her hand on his arm turning him and pulling him up short. Her eyes were wide on his and she blinked at him a couple of times. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He smiled at her - and when she stepped into his arms he didn’t glance around to see who might be watching. He didn’t do a mental check that they were in public and it wasn’t seemly. He just wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

 


	12. Chapter 12

The crowd halfway down the courthouse steps surprised him but he supposed it shouldn’t have. The case itself was humdrum, but with the Rev Dickerman involved there was almost no way it didn’t become a media circus. On the street, a small group of protestors shouted about tolerance and hate crimes - while not ten feet away a group of the Reverend’s supporters proved why such protests were needed. And coming toward him fast were New York’s finest journalists.

“Mr Barba, is it true that you are pursuing hate crime charges?”

He held the hand not holding his briefcase up, avoiding looking into the cameras directly as he’d been taught, “While I can’t comment on the exact strategy for this case I can say that we are prosecuting Mr Williams and Mr Landgraff to the fullest extent of the law.”

“What about the Church of the Holy Spirit - what is their involvement with the case?”

“The Church of the Holy Spirit has no official involvement with this case.” 

“Is it true one of the defendants tried to flee the country?”

“No comment.”

“Mr Barba do you believe the defendants are racists?”

“I have no opinions on the mindset of the two defendants,”he was done with this, he glanced over at Amaro who began to clear a path for him. “However, it seems clear that this particular crime was racially motivated.”

“Mr Barba!”

“Mr Barba!”

“Mr Barba!”

He ignored the further questions, striding down the steps to the street and chatting briefly with Amaro and Carisi. He sent them off with a wave, crossing the street and heading back to his office.

His personal phone vibrated in his coat pocket and he pulled it out. _Roseline._

“Hello?”

“That pink tie doesn’t work well for you on camera.”

He turned around, glancing back at the crowd of reporters on the courthouse steps. “Did they seriously just broadcast that live?”

“Local did,” she chirped at him.

He grunted, looking down at his tie. It looked perfectly fine to him and he told her as much.

“It’s a great tie. You know I love all of your ties. But on camera the pink makes you look kind of flushed, like you’d just jogged a mile.”

“Dammit,” he muttered. 

“It’s okay, I think you looked really handsome. Just flushed.” A breathy little laugh, “And as you know my opinion matters most.”

He could almost hear her eyebrows waggling at him and he chuckled, “Oh really?”

“Yeah…” she trailed off. “Completely unrelated, do you have an hour right now and want to stop by? Or maybe two?”

He laughed out loud, startling a pigeon on the sidewalk nearby. “Unfortunately no, I have to return some phone calls and I have a meeting.”

“Too bad.”

“Tell me about it,” he turned a slow circle, checking if anyone was standing close enough to hear him. Technically, he was on a break right now - although if he was being honest with himself it was such a razor-thin excuse you could have sliced grapes with it. “No, _really._ Why don’t you tell me about it?”

The phone was silent and he thought for a moment he had made a mistake, maybe it was too soon for this - or she wasn’t into it. Then that breathy little laugh again, “Rafael Barba, are you asking me to dirty talk with you? At the _courthouse_?”

“I’m on a _break_ , miles from the courthouse,” he told her, eyes darting to the two people crossing about ten feet from him. The justification sounded laughable even to him.

“Oh? Should I tell you a dirty little secret then? About how often I think about those ties of yours? Running my fingers down them. About blindfolding you - or tying you up maybe?”

He closed his eyes, picturing it. Not on him, but her - the bright pink of the silk stark against her dark skin.

“I _really_ want to suck on you Rafael. You barely let me at all the other night. But I imagine how it would be, your heaviness on my tongue. How you’ll taste as I lick you.”

He groaned and closed his eyes, this was a terrible idea. The tightness in his pants told him that it was, and the beep of his Blackberry only served to underline it.

“You tasted so good Rafael. Has anyone ever told you that? You taste _amazing_. I can’t wait to have you come in my mouth - to suck you while you groan and tremble. I want to hear you say my name while you fuck my mouth.”

“Stop,” he gritted the word out, wiping the back of his hand across his brow and nearly clocking himself with his briefcase. Thank god he was wearing an overcoat. “Stop, this was a mistake, I can’t-“ he shut his eyes again, swallowing and heard her throaty laugh.

“Well, you go to your meetings and phone calls. I’m going to go into my bedroom and take care of a few things for myself.”

And that was it, he was officially rock hard. “Fuck,” he swore, startling the man next to him and he cursed again - this time silently to himself. “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Rafael, you _told_ me to say things like that to you.”

“Yes, I did,” he walked across the street, glancing around as he did so, “but you can’t just tell me you’re going to go off and - do things to yourself.”

“Am I also not allowed to tell you I’m going to think of you while I do them?”

He missed a step, stumbling and catching himself. He ignored the outstretched hands that tried to help him, nodding at the people behind them in acknowledgement before continuing onwards. “No, most definitely not. You absolutely should not tell me that.” He stopped at the top of the steps, turning to look back at the street, “But you should show me. Tonight.

The breathy little sigh she made was almost his undoing, “I don’t think I can last that long Rafael.”

“Do it for me?”

“I think you mean _don’t_ do it, but for you…” another sigh, this one disappointed, “you had better be very _very_ good to me tonight Rafael.”

“Eight o’clock. My place.” He waited for her affirmative answer and hung up the phone. Four hours, he had four hours to distract himself, make his phone calls and be productive and then he could indulge in the thousand thoughts and fantasies running through his head. 

When he stepped into his office he flipped the switch on his kettle, setting the coffee press up with practiced motions as he set his briefcase on the conference table. He’d leave his overcoat on for a bit - but now was the time to work and he slipped into the familiar rhythm easily.

 


	13. Chapter 13

He’d shucked his jacket as soon as he walked in the door, carefully hanging it in his closet and rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. The tie he left on, she seemed to like them - she was always reaching out and tugging on them or running her fingers along the silk. Far be it for him to put an end to her fun.

When the doorman called up that Rafael had a visitor he gave the okay, pouring himself a glass of scotch and then a second for her. The soft knock at his door nearly startled him and he carried both glasses with him before thinking better of it and dropping them on a side table.

As soon as he opened the door Roseline stepped into his arms, kissing him before he even had a chance to say anything. He wrapped his arm around her, reaching over her head with the other to shut the door as she dropped her purse by their feet.

“Well hello to you too,” he smiled at her when she finally let him go. She pushed at his chest, guiding him backwards towards his bedroom and pulling her top over her head as she walked.

“Less talking, more touching,” she ordered, hands falling to her pants and his smile widened into a smirk. He unhooked her bra, watching it fall to the floor at their feet. She pushed her jeans over her hips and hopped a little as she tried to pull the tight denim over her calves. “Do _not_ laugh at me,” she warned him, finally getting them off. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he knew he was still grinning, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth. She grabbed his face, kissing him and pressing her body to his as she backed him into the bedroom. Once again, she was nude and he was still completely clothed and something in him stirred. He liked it, liked the feeling of holding her bare skin against his expensive suits. It felt erotic, almost tawdry.

He sat her at the edge of the bed, fingers cupping her shoulders as he gently laid her down. “Now I believe you promised to show me something earlier…”

She looked up at him, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion for a moment before she smiled in understanding, sliding one hand down between her legs slowly, her fingers tracing over the plump wet flesh between her thighs. He drew her knees up, setting her feet on the edge of the bed and stepping forward to stand between her spread legs. 

She was beautiful, glorious, arching into her own fingers as she looked up at him. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and he wanted nothing more than to soothe it with his tongue. Instead, he slowly loosened his tie, taking in the way her eyes followed the movement, her fingers working more quickly against her. 

Stripping was not something he had much experience with - typically it was done perfunctory for himself, or quickly with someone else. But tonight he took his time, shrugging slowly out of his suspenders, unrolling his sleeves with more precision than the action warranted, then spending long seconds on each individual button down the front of his light blue shirt. Her breath came in shorter pants as she watched him shrug out of the cloth - pulling the white undershirt over his head after - and there was something immensely satisfying about seeing someone so entranced by his body. 

When his hands fell to the placket at the front of his trousers she moaned, eyes fluttering closed. “Slow down,” he scolded softly, resting a hand on her knee, “not yet.” She stopped entirely, shuddering breaths lifting her chest as she stared up at him and he pushed his pants and underwear over his hips. He thought he heard her mutter “Oh _fuck_ ” as she stared at him but it could have just been a gasp of air.

Yes, it was _extremely_ gratifying to watch her watch him.

She reached out for him with one hand but he ignored it, kneeling on the floor between her legs and brushing aside her fingers to press his mouth against her. “ _Rafael,”_ she gasped and he smiled as he tongued at her wet folds. Her fingers sank into his hair and he moaned into her as he felt her nails rake against his skull. Her answering moan was louder, her hips arching and he slipped his hands under her ass, lifting her to meet his mouth.

The hoarse shout echoed in his silent apartment when she came, and he licked and sucked at her as the last shudders left her body - reveling in the taste of her. He set her gently back to the bed, grinning at her slack-jawed expression as he rolled a condom on. He leaned over, carefully holding his body away from hers as he set a hand on each side of her. Then, slowly, he pressed his hips forward - the head of his dick rubbing against her entrance.

It was as though a jolt of electricity shot through her. Her eyes flew open, her arms lifting to his shoulders and her legs wrapping around his hips. He sank forward, pushing inside her in one long, smooth motion until their hips met and his forehead dropped to rest on hers.

“Christ,” he muttered as he felt her shift against him, hooking her legs around his back. The hot pant of her breath against his lips beckoned him and he kissed her as he pulled back, thrusting forward slowly as he slipped his tongue inside.

He fucked her without hurry, savoring every inch. It had been too fast the previous times, he’d barely had time to enjoy the sensations - but this time he memorized every expressions that flitted across her face. Every flutter of her body’s muscles against his. Then he lifted himself away, watching her breasts bounce as he fucked into her harder. He felt the back of her hand against his stomach and shifted without prompting, giving her room to slip her fingers between them. Watching, her lips parted on soundless gasps, he waited - holding tightly to his control until he felt the orgasm rock through her body.

“ _Yes_ ,” he groaned into her hair as he came, clutching her close to him and pressing her down into the mattress. He shuddered against her, his body trembling against his will until he felt her hands smoothing against the skin of his back. Murmuring into his hair, words like _perfect_ and _amazing_ and _holy fucking shit_ but he couldn’t make out the context. He didn’t think he needed it.

Finally, he heard her soft chuckle, the huffing breath ruffling his hair, “I love every last inch of your body Rafael, but you’re crushing me.”

Groaning, he rolled to his side next to her, their legs still hanging off the edge of the bed. They lay in silence for long minutes, shoulder to shoulder on his sheets until his brain began to work again. Should he offer her something? He did a mental inventory of what he had in his apartment but the low grumble from beside him brought him short.

She was shaking slightly, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Are you hungry?” it was an inane question under the circumstances but the deep throaty laugh that burst from her made his heart turn over a bit.

“God yes, I didn’t have dinner.”

“Well why didn’t you say something? I wouldn’t have attacked you as soon as you walked in if I’d known.”

She turned her head to look at him and he did the same, neither of them yet recovered enough to move anything else. “You have a faulty memory, I believe that it was I who attacked you.”

“Regardless,” he groaned lightly as he sat up, then slightly more loudly as he stood on shaking knees, “I would be a poor host if I didn’t offer you sustenance.”

She took his offered hand, letting him pull her up to stand in front of him. Their bare skin brushed against each other and he bit back a moan at the contact. She didn’t bother to and he kind of loved that about her. How completely unabashed she was about wanting him. It didn’t make any sense at all, but he was thankful for it anyway.

“Go out or stay in?”

She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. “Do you have something comfortable I can wear?”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Then let’s stay in.”

He guided her to his dresser, leaving her to find something to wear and slipping into a a pair of sweats and a ratty old Harvard t-shirt himself. He fetched his phone from the living room, pulling up the place around the corner on speed dial and placing an order that made the person on the other end offer six sets of dinnerware. They always did that to him, you’d think they’d learn.

She emerged from the bedroom as he was hanging up, a pair of running shorts he’d bought but were far too short for him hugging her hips, a t-shirt from some charity drive he’d been involved with years ago stretching across her chest. She looked comfortable, easing into the surrounding of his apartment like she belonged there.

Ignoring his disapproving look she stepped over the back of his low couch, sitting and pulling her knees up to her chest as she watched him. “Scotch?” he asked, suddenly remembering the abandoned drinks on the side table.

“I’d love some,” her eyes tracked him as he grabbed both glasses, handing one to her before sinking down to the couch. “How long have you owned that shirt?”

“This?” he looked down. “I don’t know, twenty years or so?”

She snorted softly, sipping the whiskey and making a low _mmm_ noise. It was the same noise she made when he kissed her neck and the thought made him smile. “It’s not okay you know.”

“What isn’t?”

“For someone to look as good as you do in suits _and_ in sweats. It’s not fair to mortal men.”

He choked on the whiskey, feeling part of it go up his nose and she quickly took the glass from his hand as he doubled over. After he quit coughing and wiped the tears from his eyes he turned to her - she still had her feet up on his couch with her knees resting between them and he draped his arm across her legs. “Flattery will get you everywhere cariño.”

She returned the glass, “Glad to hear it.” She leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder and they sipped their whiskey in companionable silence. He’d thought she might have fallen asleep until the loud knock interrupted them and he rose to answer it.

“Sushi,” he announced as he shut the door.

“Sushi!” she perked up immediately, taking one of the bags from him and popping open containers on the glass coffee table. He handed her a set of chopsticks and she took stock of the array. “Do we really need eight different rolls?”

“Yes,” he answered without shame, picking up something with salmon laying over the top and popping it in his mouth.

They laughed their way through the dinner, trading stories about work and their days. She dripped sauce onto her thigh and when he commented that she’d just missed marring his sofa she rolled her eyes and slid to the floor. Ignoring his protests that she was still allowed on the couch - just on a probationary basis - she leaned against his knee and continued to wave her chopsticks at him, accusing him of being a clean freak. Finally, she tossed her sticks down, loudly claiming defeat even as he fished for another piece of eel, resting one hand on her shoulder. 

Laying her hand over his she traced her fingertips against his skin, “Tell me something about you.”

“Like what,” he watched her hand move on his.

“I don’t know, something,” she looked about the room, settling on him again. “Tell me about Harvard. Did you party all night with the pretty sorority girls?”

“Christ no,” he laughed, “I was on scholarship.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He paused, looking at her and setting his chopsticks down, “It was… you have to understand that Harvard was my chance. My chance to get out of the barrio. Do something with myself.”

She rested her chin on his knee but didn’t say anything so he continued, “I did my undergrad at City College. They give preference to local kids which was good for me. I barely managed to keep my grades up in high school - to many opportunities to get in trouble. Especially with my friends. But I _knew_ I wanted to be a lawyer, and when you want to be a lawyer you go to Harvard. That’s how you know you’re the best.” He felt his fist clench at his side and forcibly relaxed. “Luckily some professors beat some sense into me freshman year or who knows where I might have ended up.”

“Was it everything you wanted?” 

The imposing facade of the Harvard Law Library rose in his mind’s eye, “God yes. Have you ever been there?” At the shake of her head he sighed, “The whole campus is beautiful, you have this sense of history - of being a part of something bigger than yourself. And there’s this _obligation_ that comes with that - especially when the school is paying for you to be there. You _have_ to be the best - live up to those expectations.”

He stroked against her hair absently, “So yes, I wasn’t going to spend any time _not_ doing what I was there for. Parties, girls, the other kids did those things. I studied. God, I lived in the Library for two years. I thought the staff were going to have me evicted one time.”

“It sounds lonely.”

Her voice startled him and he smiled down at her, “Eh, it wasn’t so bad. No one wanted to date scrawny little me anyway so it’s not as though I was missing opportunities.”

“I think I would have.”

He snorted, reaching for his whiskey before realizing the glass was empty. “You would have been so far out of my league I’d have been afraid to even look at you.” He didn’t add that she still was.

She placed one hand on his knee, moving it aside and kneeling between his legs. “You have no idea do you?”

He blinked down at her, “No idea of what?”

“How utterly and ridiculously attractive you are.”

Snorting again he reached a hand out to cup her cheek but she shrugged him off. “Thank you but you don’t have to say things like that. I-“

“No,” she interrupted, leaning forward until her face was inches from his, “I can’t control what you tell yourself inside your own head but don’t even try to say shit like that to me.” She was in earnest and he felt his mouth working against words that wouldn’t come out. A joking remark, a change of subject, hell he’d take a celebrity impression if he could muster it up to break the tense silence. She took pity on him, leaning forward and licking against his lips before pulling back and sitting on her heels.

“You know, you promised me earlier today I could suck on you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, looking up to heaven as though he might find help there. He’d wanted a change of subject but this… Hands traced the inside of his thighs as she looked up at him through long eyelashes. She licked her lips and he groaned, “You’re going to kill me.”

Chuckling, she leaned down - pressing her open mouth to the cloth covering his dick. He jerked forward and she laughed softly. “But you _promised_.”

He slowly shook his head even as he lifted his hips so she could pull his pants down. “I’m not a young man, I’m not even sure I-“

Wet heat engulfed him and whatever he had been saying broke off into a groan. 

“Talk to me Rafael,” she muttered, licking at the side of him pulling his hips closer to the edge of the couch. 

He stared down at her, “You’re beautiful.”

She worked her mouth over his soft flesh, sucking and licking at him until - miracle of miracles - he felt himself beginning to grow hard again. 

“Tell me what you want.” Her voice was whisper soft against him and he gasped, pressing his hands into her braids. “Tell me what you like. Tell me what you _feel_.”

“You feel amazing,” he grunted, “I could look at you all day - just the way you move around, like no one’s watching you at all.” Her tongue traced against a vein on his dick and he jerked against her, feeling him slide a little further into her mouth as she began to suck against him.

“I think I could watch you do this all day and die a happy man.”

She hummed in pleasure, one of her hands coming up to wrap around him and he lost all of his words, his hips moving of their own accord as she pumped him in her fist. 

“Dios mio, oh _fuck_ ,” he felt his balls tighten and he stroked against her head. “I’m going to come,” he warned her and she pulled her mouth from him, meeting his eyes as her hand continued to work along his shaft.

“I want to hear you say my name,” she whispered up to him, her lips brushing the head of his dick and then she was sucking on him again and his world turned blindingly white.

“ _Roseline_ ,” he choked out and felt himself spurt on her tongue. She swallowed, slowly laving him as he spent himself in her mouth. After several long what-felt-like-minutes she gently tucked him away, moving onto the couch next to him and snuggling up to his side. With his last reservoir of strength he wrapped his arms around her, leaning back into the couch until she rested on his chest and his breathing returned to normal.

“Respected Assistant District Attorney found dead in his apartment. Police suspect sexual misconduct,” he muttered into her hair and felt her giggle against him.

“He died as he lived,” she mumbled into his t-shirt, “giving himself to the community.”

His rocking laughter unsettled her and rather than try and re-arrange he pressed her up - leading her into the dim bedroom. In the soft muted light from the city below they slowly undressed each other - climbing under the covers and finding the warmth of each other’s arms in the near darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Rosaline juggled the tray of coffees, her purse, and the paper sack. Chiding herself that she should have taken her gloves off at the security checkpoint. Huffing a bit, she slid into the elevator, pressing the floor number with her elbow and moving to the side as it began to fill around her. Cognizant of her dusty rose wool coat she held the coffees as far from her as she could and not create an incident.

Four floors up she excused herself, squeezing between the crisp black and navy suits and into the hallway. She took a guess, heading right, and five minutes later backtracked to the other end of the building. _Rafael Barba_ \- his name was outside the door and she smiled, then at the young woman sitting at the desk in the anteroom. She opened her mouth to introduce herself but was stopped by a voice from inside.

“-for _fifteen years_ unless you give me the name of the other person who was there with you.”

She froze, her eyes locked on the eyes of the young assistant. The woman swallowed, her eyes darting to the door, “Mr Barba is busy right now, is he expecting you?”

“No,” she answered, setting the coffees down carefully, “well, sort of. We had plans but I don’t think-“

“A warrant that was _unfounded_ and executed on _illegally._ ” That one wasn’t Rafael.

Low murmuring continued until the door finally flew open and a man in a grey suit stormed out. “You can go fuck yourself,” he snapped as he stalked past Roseline. Another man was close behind him, “I’ll take our chances in court Barba.”

“You do that.”

Roseline tried to duck out of the sightline from the open door but Rafael saw her before she could. His eyebrows snapped together as he took in the sight of her outside his office. He opened his mouth, then turned to someone she couldn’t see, answering the question there instead. 

Quickly, she set the paper bag down next to the coffee. “Can you just give him these for me?” she told the assistant then turned down the hallway, her heels clicking against the linoleum.

“Wait,” she heard behind her, “Roseline.”

Stopping, she rounded to him with a sheepish smile, “You forgot didn’t you?”

He stared at her and then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants - he wasn’t wearing a jacket. “Shit. Yeah, I did. Come back, I need to talk to Rollins for a second but then we can have lunch.”

“Are you sure?”

The smile he gave her was wide, warm. “Of course.” Gesturing her ahead of him she returned to the office, stopping to pick up the tray of coffees and food but he took them from her, motioning her through the door.

“Detectives this is Ms Dagust. Roseline, these are Detectives Rollins and Tutuola.”

She held her hand out, then realized she was still wearing her gloves and quickly pulled one off. “Nice to meet you,” she said as she shook the woman’s hand - the “Nice to meet you too,” in return was marred a bit by the quizzical eyebrow that accompanied it. “A pleasure,” the man next to her said, giving her a charming smile and she returned it, watching Rafael glare a little in the corner of her eye. 

He began talking quickly to the blonde woman and Roseline smiled at the man next to her.

“How long have you know the counselor?”

“Counselor- oh Rafael? Couple of months maybe? A little less.”

“And you and he-“ whatever he was about to say was cut off by Rafael’s voice.

“Detectives, I’ll see you in court tomorrow,” his tone was dismissive and she tried not to look too sheepish as they left. “What did you bring me?” he asked as the door closed behind them.

Unbuttoning her coat she threw it over a chair, “Coffee and du riz a pois.”

“Rice and… beans?” She nodded at him and the corner of his mouth twitched, “I don’t believe those go with coffee.”

She unpacked the bag, handing him one of the plastic containers, “I’m surprised at you Rafael, coffee goes with everything.”

His eyes traced down her, lighting on the gloves on the table and the coat on the chair, and suddenly he was giving her that mocking half smile she wanted to punch or kiss off of him in equal measure. “Did you dress up to come here?” 

She glanced down at her grey dress pants, the white silk shirt tucked into it. “Yes. You go to One PP you dress up.”

“This isn’t One PP,” he corrected her, blowing across the top of the coffee.

“There were two police officers standing literally right there when I walked in so I’m going with close enough. Black folk have to be careful around here you know.” His sidelong look to her was considering and she winked at him. 

He snorted, “Of course.”

She sat across from him at the wooden conference table, “So… was that a normal meeting for you?”

“What? Oh, you mean the ‘go fuck yourself’?” He shrugged, “Pretty much, yes.”

The yellow suspenders he was wearing were distracting her. Wasn’t there a jacket or something around here he should put on? “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” If the angle by which he was tilting that cup was any indication he had already downed half of his coffee. “It’s part of the job. No one likes the guy who sends you to jail.”

“But, you’re a nice guy, you don’t-“ she was cut off by his abrupt laughter. “What?”

“It’s sweet, that you think that, it is - but I’m really not.”

“You’re nice to me,” she cocked her head to the side.

His answering half smile was warm, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Well, then I’m flattered.”

“You should be.” She continued to stare at him until he finally looked up at her from his rice, “What?”

“I’m just imagining you in court. You must be terrifying.”

Oh god, that self-satisfied smirk was back - his eyes crinkling at the corners as he winked at her, “It is _possible_ that that word has been thrown around before, yes.”

She leaned back into the comfortable wooden chair, absentmindedly eating her rice and beans. He could get so intense sometimes, his attention narrowing and focusing in on a problem. He’d be stern in a courtroom, none of that playfulness she liked so much. Like a television dream sequence the world faded around her and she imagined herself on the witness stand. He was asking her questions rapidly, taking pleasure in how flustered she got, relentlessly probing at her alibis and excuses. He’d keep stepping closer until he was right in front of her. _Counselor,_ she’d plead, reaching out to touch his hand, _you have to believe me, I’m innocent_.Fuck, just the idea of calling him ‘Counselor’ made her shiver. _If you’re innocent_ , he’d say, _prove it_. And then she’d kiss him. He’d bend her over that little railing - she was pretty sure there were little railings everywhere in courtrooms, she’d seen them in movies hundred of times - and lift up her skirt…

“You’re blushing.” His voice startled her from the daydream and she nearly dropped the bowl in her hands before recovering. He was looking sideways at her, that half smile that she _definitely_ wanted to kiss off of him playing on his lips. “I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“I am _not_ ,” she spluttered, holding one hand to her cheek.

“No, you’re not, but you’ve got a look on your face that says you would be. What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

“It’s nothing, it’s…” oh for fuck’s sake they’d been seeing each other for over a month, they’d had sex at least a dozen times - once against the big windows in his living room even. She couldn’t really pretend to be shy _now_. “Oh _fine_ , I was imaging you. Being all lawyer-y and in the courtroom and then I was there and then we were doing things.” She trailed her hand against her neck and smiled at him, “And then real life you interrupted me.”

His gaze was hot on hers, he had one ankle resting on the other knee - he looked casual and relaxed, but she could see the tight line of his shoulders. “Oh really? And what was going to happen - before I interrupted of course?”

“You were going to bend me over and fuck me against a railing while you whispered things in latin. Post hoc ergo propter hoc… habeas corpus…” She bit her lip, feeling her eyes go unfocused as she imagined it.

“Really? Did I say anything else about having your body?” 

She blinked, “What?”

“Habeas corpus - it literally means to have a body.”

“That is so sexy…” Oh god, did she have to sound that breathy and excited about it?

He laughed, setting his empty bowl down, “You have a thing for lawyers now?”

“I think I have a thing for _you_.”

The smile that spread across his face could have lit up the Chrysler Building and she knew the answering look on hers was just as dopey and bright. Besotted fools, the both of them. It would have been positively saccharine had they been other people.

He helped her clean up the table, tossing the empty cartons in the trash. He was standing so close and her eyes couldn’t help but flick to his chest and shoulders as he chugged the last bit of his coffee. Finally, she couldn’t stop herself, “Do you always walk around in you underwear?”

He choked, pressing a hand to his chest as his eyes flew to hers. “Excuse me?”

She stepped to him, running her fingers under the edge of his bright yellow suspenders. They matched his tie. “Suspenders are like your socks or your briefs. They’re not meant to be seen.”

Snorting, he adjusted the length of his tie against his shirt, “Why would I got to the trouble of coordinating all of this if no one was going to see it.”

“You look half-dressed,” she commented, slipping her other hand to the suspenders as well and pulling him a little towards her, “it makes me want to get you all the way undressed.”

“I never thought of it that way,” he glanced down at his shirtfront.

Nodding, she leaned into him, “You have _no idea_ how turned on this makes me.”

He looked around the office for a moment, lingering on the open blinds at the anteroom windows. “I can’t. Not here.”

“Not even one kiss?” she pouted at him.

He groaned and leaned into her, pressing her back against the table as his lips sought hers. She clenched the yellow fabric in her fists, licking at his lips. Holding herself up, his hands were flat on the table beside her. When he pulled away his eyes were cloudy with lust.

“You make me want to-“ he swallowed, his eyes flicking between her and the door. His body still pressed hers and his hands came up to cover hers on his shirt. “Do something very wrong.”

She must have looked pleased by that pronouncement because he chuckled at her, untangling her fingers and stepping away. “What have you got going on today?”

“I have a meeting,” she chirped at him, tossing her coat over her arm. “With a real-live record producer!”

“Really? That’s great.”

He was already starting to lose focus on her, one eye on his desk as his hand flipped through a pile of papers and she smiled to herself. Leaning toward him she kissed his cheek, “I’ll tell you all about it later. When you’re paying attention.”

“What?” he jerked his head up. “I was paying attention-“

She kissed him square on the mouth then and stepped away to gather her purse, “I’ll tell you how it goes. Later.”

The man next to her on the elevator ride down complemented her on her humming. She coughed, thanking him. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it. 

Positively saccharine.

 


	15. Chapter 15

His jaw dropped when he saw her crossing the large marble foyer. “I thought you told me to dress down?”

She smiled as Rafael placed a hand on her hip and kissed her cheek, “I did.”

“But you- look at you.”

The smile turned into a grin and she looked down at the red dress she was wearing. It was one Roseline usually reserved for gigs, the slit in the side was cut to the top of her thigh and the shimmery material caught up on one shoulder and fell in soft waves to the floor. She looked like a million bucks and she knew it.

Despite his protests he looked good enough to eat as always. Crisp white shirt looking fabulous against his skin and she pressed her fingers to his collar and gave him a proper kiss, pulling him closer by the lapel of his black jacket with the other - since he’d listened to her and not worn a tie she had to make do with what was available. When she pulled away he still looked confused, but more happy about it. 

“I wanted to look better than you for once.” At his dumbfounded expression she bit her lip, “So I cheated. Just a little bit.”

“You lied to me so that you could look better than me?” He seemed flabbergasted as she nodded. “You are beautiful and crazy. Crazy beautiful.” He guided her into the restaurant. “Our table isn’t ready but we can wait at the bar.”

Roseline took a high stool and Rafael moved behind her, pressing his chest to her back. It was crowded, but not _that_ crowded. She smiled and turned her face to kiss his neck. He shivered, stepping slightly sideways as he flagged down the bartender.

“Whiskey neat and whiskey sour.” When the bartender returned he handed her the tumbler and set the yellow drink at the edge by Rafael. She giggled and he glared at her as he swapped them grumbling, “It’s not my fault you drink an old man drink.”

“Are you an old man now?”

His glare got sharper and he picked up his whiskey. “I’ll show you an old man…”

“Oh Raffie, is that you!” Roseline turned at the sound of the voice behind them and Rafael cut himself off.

“Linda, good to see you.” He smiled, taking the woman’s outstretched hand. “You look ravishing as always.” 

She was tall, blonde - her black dress so simple and elegant it had to cost a few grand. Roseline met the eyes of the man in the tailored grey suit behind her and they shared a mutual look of ‘Well I guess this might as well happen’. 

“Raffie darling allow me to introduce you to Hugh, he’s a Dean over at Columbia. Raffie here is an attorney for the City.” Linda beamed up at the man next to her.

Rafael and the man shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Rafael turned towards her and she did her best to look interested, “Roseline, this is Linda - she’s an art curator in Williamsburg. Linda, this is Roseline, she’s … my date.”

Roseline was proud of how smooth she kept her expression. 

“Charmed I’m sure,” Linda purred as she pressed her limp hand into Roseline’s - the french manicure on her fingers perfect and shining.

“Likewise.” Was she smiling? It felt like someone had put hooks in the corners of her lips. Roseline sipped at her drink as Rafael and Linda chatted. If Rafael invited them to dinner she was going to hit him.

Linda had her hand hooked through her date’s arm, although she was standing much closer to ‘Raffie’ than was strictly necessary. “Isn’t this place just _divine_. Ever since you brought me here for our anniversary it has just been my _favorite_.” Roseline didn’t miss the quick glance the woman gave her. There were exactly nine different ways she could scratch those pretty blue eyes out but she did none of them.

Rafael coughed, his eyes darting sideways to look at Roseline as well but she did nothing but blink. She was a paragon of virtue and restraint. “Well, yes, it is a very nice restaurant,” she felt his hand slide around her waist and he took a step closer to her. Oh, _now_ he got affectionate in public. With _Linda_ here. 

She growled but no one heard her.

“Mr Barba, your table is ready.”

Saved by the proverbial bell. Roseline said a quick farewell and rose to follow the host without looking back. She heard Rafael hastily saying his goodbyes as he trailed after her.

She thanked the host as she sat and was deeply engrossed in the menu by the time Rafael slid into his own chair. They were silent when their waiter delivered their drinks from the bar and Roseline set her menu down and took a long swallow.

“About that…”

She glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t bring - that is - I don’t want you to think I bring lots of women here.” His fingers rose to his throat, seeking to adjust a tie that wasn’t there. “I like the food here - the atmosphere is nice - I just like the restaurant. It’s not a thing I do.”

“Why did you introduce me as your date?”

He looked stricken, his fingers freezing on his shirt. “I thought we were… are you _not_ my date?”

“Date seems a little tame but whatever you want to call it yes.” He relaxed and she glared at him. “At least for the next few minutes. But that’s not the problem. She’s an art curator, he’s a Dean, you’re a lawyer - why am I just your _date_?”

His lips parted and she saw a look of panic flit across his face. “I didn’t think-“

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“What? _No_.” His eyes had gone round, he looked genuinely shocked she would say that which made her feel a little better.

“Do you think other people will be?”

A pause before he said anything which spoke volumes in itself. “Roseline you have to understand - a lot of these people, they’re snobs. They hear ‘lounge singer’ or ‘bartender’ and would think less of you. I don’t want to see that to happen… I was just trying to protect you.”

She leaned her elbows onto the table. Her voice was hard but she didn’t bother trying to soften it, “First of all, how dare you lecture me on what people might think of me. Do you honestly think for even a moment that I am not acutely aware of how ‘those people’ see me?”

He seemed to regain some of his composure in the face of her anger, his eyebrows drawing together at her tone. “No, I don’t think that-“

“ _Second_ of all - I’m a big girl, I don’t need you to protect from the world.” She leaned back, “Third, if you ever call me a fucking ‘lounge singer’ again they will never find your body. Yes, we are ready to order.”

Their waiter was a seasoned professional and barely raised an eyebrow as she and Rafael snapped their orders at him. She’d have to be sure they left him a decent tip. As the waiter walked away Roseline ran her fingers down the silver edge of her knife - staring at a point just over Rafael’s right shoulder as she tried to unclench her jaw. In the corner of her eye should could see him fidget. His face still looked hard, and he kept opening his mouth and closing it as though he either had not enough or entirely too much to say.

Finally, he settled on, “It was not my intention to belittle you.” 

She pursed her lips and stared at him and he stared back. After a long moment she finally said, “Is that all?”

“What else do you want?”

As far as apologies went his could really use some work. He was blinking rapidly, his fingers drumming on the table. He looked intensely uncomfortable. Well, it’s not like she hadn’t known what she was getting into with him. 

She sighed, “How long ago?”

“What?” His eyes snapped to hers.

“You and _Linda_ \- how long ago?”

His face were guarded, “Three years.”

“She’s pretty,” she spun the knife with the tips of her fingers.

His eyes narrowed, “She is.” Before she could say anything he added, “But you’re beautiful.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Crazy beautiful?”

“I’m certainly crazy about you.”

She did smile at that, “Oh that was _very_ smooth.”

“Thank you,” he smirked back, “I do try.” He stared at her for a moment, “Are we okay?”

She nodded and everything about him relaxed. If she had had any reservations left, watching the difference in him from one moment to the next put them to rest. But she was really going to have to give him a crash course in apologizing at some point. He was terrifically bad at it. She glanced at the whiskey in his hand and a sudden thought occurred to her. “But there is one thing you could do…”

“A part of me wants to say ‘name it’ and another is terrified to make that offer.”

“Oh come on, I’m not that scary.” At his answering look of disbelief she shrugged. “When was that last time you got good and properly drunk?”

“Excuse me?” the whiskey swirled in the glass in his hand. “I’m an adult.”

“So am I.”

“Debatable.”

She grinned at him and flagged their waiter down. “Four shots of bourbon.” 

The waiter raised an eyebrow at her, “I don’t believe we serve ‘shots’.”

“Okay, I’d like two double bourbons in the smallest glasses you can find.”

The man sniffed and stalked away as Rafael gave her a incredulous look. “I am _not_ getting drunk with you _here_.”

“Lounge singer Rafael.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You called me a _lounge singer_. That’s a two shot penalty right there.”

His incredulous face didn’t change. “What’s the price for lying to me about what to wear tonight?”

Laughing, she took the tall cocktail glasses from the waiter and handed one across the table, “Two shot penalty.”

He stared at the glass in his hand for a moment before lifting it, “Salud?”

“Salud!”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe we’re taking a cab five blocks.”

Roseline lay across the back of the car, looking up at Rafael from her place in his lap. His hair was ruffled, messy, and she blinked a moment before she remembered she had been the one to ruffle it.

“Well, it would have been farther if you hadn’t tried to walk home.”

“I did perfectly fine.”

“You knocked me into a mailbox.”

 She cupped his cheek in her hand, turning his face down to hers, “Where did you learn to drink like that?”

He laughed, bending down to kiss the tip of her nose as they arrived at his building. Groaning loudly she barely resisted as he set her upright, paying for the cab and then pulling her by her wrists onto the street. She fell into his arms laughing and he shushed her as they stumbled into his building. The doorman gave them an amused look and Rafael blushed. “You’re soused,” he told her matter-of-factly as he pressed the elevator call button. It dinged immediately and she backed inside, her coat falling open as she beckoned him after her.

“Soused counselor? You won’t intimidate me with your big Ivy League words.”

“Counselor eh?” he caught her around the waist, pulling her body to his and pressing his lips just under her ear. “Are you going to call me ‘Mr Barba’ and ‘sir’ too?”

She shivered, tilting her neck so he could run his tongue down it. “Oh god, please can I?”

He chuckled, his hands running up her dress under her coat and cupping her sides - his thumbs just skimming under her nipples and she arched into his touch. “Do you swear to give yourself to me and only me so help you god?”

The “yes” she gasped out was somewhat broken by the moan that immediately followed it but she felt him grin against her neck anyway.The doors dinged open and he pulled her into the small hallway - fishing for his keys in his coat pocket. She pushed him against his door, cupping his jaw with one hand as she undid the buttons on his shirt and licked his clavicle.

“Not here,” he groaned, even as his hands pulled her closer.

“Yes here.” She had his shirt unbuttoned completely, pulling it from the waist of his pants and pressing against him as she sucked on his earlobe.

“Objection, public indecency,” he muttered into her neck.

“Sustained.”

He laughed softly, “I think what you’re looking for is ‘overruled’.”

She bit his earlobe, licking at the spot when he jerked against her, “Who’s the judge here, me or you?”

“My apologies your honor,” he ran his tongue across her collarbone, slipping his hands into the high slit of her dress. “If it pleases the court I’d like to make you scream and whereas I don’t want an audience or a police report I’d like permission to take you inside to make that happen.”

She pulled the keys from his fingers, unlocking the door and all but falling inside with him. They hit the opposite wall hard and Roseline wrapped her arms around his neck to hold them both upright. Coats hit the floor and they kissed like they’d never done it before - mouths hot on each other as their tongues intertwined. His hand was on her thigh again, pressing upwards until he could reach under and cup her ass. 

They twisted together, stumbling into the living room. They missed the couch by inches, hitting the floor with a mutual ‘oomph’. 

“Are you okay?”

He looked so concerned she could kiss him. And then since there was no good reason not to she did - pushing his suit jacket and shirt from his shoulders. His knee slid between her legs and she pressed against him, rocking her hips into him as his hands slid beneath her back.

“How do I get you out of this thing?”

Her back arched, her lips parting on a gasp as she rubbed herself against his thigh. She couldn’t focus on him, her focus narrowing to that spot between her legs, her toes curling in the heels she was still wearing and _fuck_ she wished she wasn’t because she couldn’t seem to get her feet under her and she needed to ground herself. Push herself against him more. Take what she needed. Her nails dug into the skin of his back, startling a sharp noise from him and he pulled back, his eyes on her face.

“Or you could…” he shifted against her, lifting himself up on one arm as he cupped her face in the other hand, lifting his knee and pressing just there, just right. The high keening noise she made barely sounded human and he was urging her on in rapid Spanish as the world shattered around her.

She came back to the world with the feeling of his lips against hers. “That was beautiful,” he murmured, “Let’s do it again.” 

The metal of her zipper moving against the skin under her arm made her giggle and she twisted to help him push the dress off of her entirely. Hooking her knee on his hip she turned into his body, his hand running down her thigh, lifting her tighter against him then settling at her ankle. 

Glancing down, he smirked as his fingers traced the leather straps, “Lindos zapatos.”

“Get them off me,” she groaned and he laughed as he sat back on his knees, pressing a kiss to the inside of her calf as he undid the small buckle and tossed the shoe to the side, the other soon followed. She reached out for him, pulling him down to her for a long, slow kiss before he drifted lower, pulling her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. He nipped at the delicate skin and she jumped. “Rafael!” He licked at the spot, murmuring apologies that didn’t sound the least bit sincere.

His fingers slipped between her thighs, slipping in her wetness before thrusting one long finger inside her. Her own hands worked on the buttons of his pants, undressing him with the same urgency he had her. She set a condom to him, nearly losing her train of thought when his fingers dipped back into her and his thumb found her clit.

The flick of his thumb nearly set her off and her fingers slid into his hair to pull him closer as she twisted beneath the slow strumming of his fingers. “Oh god, please,” she was begging but she didn’t care, her thoughts from the evening blurring together until she gasped out, “Please sir…”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned, his hands twitching into her and his hips pressing his dick into her thigh, “that shouldn’t be hot.”

“Please sir,” she said again, pulling on his hair and giving him her best ‘come hither’ eyes, “fuck me.”

He sat back on his knees, moving her legs to one side, “Roll over.” She complied instantly, turning over and coming up onto her hands and knees as she felt him cover her back, his thighs against the back of hers as he slowly pushed himself inside her.

The long slow slide of him inside of her was nearly magical at that angle and her fingernails dug into the soft weave of his rug as he pushed against her. His arms were around her, holding her close as his body curved over hers and he pumped into her quickly. In her mind’s eye they were in court, him bending her over the witness stand. Or on the cold hard concrete of a jail cell. The back alley office of a mobster. Her imagination ran wild but always his face, his eyes, his body on hers.

“Te gusto eso?”

She groaned in response, gasping his name out when he shifted against her. Suddenly, he sat back from her - pulling her upright until she was sitting on his thighs, his hands wrapped around her chest. He thrusts were short and sharp inside her and she tilted her head back to lay on his shoulder. When he sucked hard against the base of her neck she moaned, “Oh Counselor,” without thinking.

He froze, his hands on her clenching tightly and his hips stilling. Then she heard a low rumble - laughter. “Don’t-“ he chided.

In for a penny… “Oh Mr _Barba_.”

“Stop it.” He was really laughing now, his short snorting chuckles hot on her neck and she found herself giggling in return. And then he pinched her. He actually pinched her and she jumped under his touch.

“Sir!”

She could feel his face pressed to the back of her neck, laughing hard enough he slipped from between her thighs. His hands on her hips urged her around until she was facing him, straddling his lap. His face was stern as he glared down his nose at her. “You’re horrible.”

Grinning unapologetically she reached between them, guiding him inside once again. Taking the lead she rocked against him, licking the hoarse gasp from his lips. In short moments they were together again, pushing and moaning until she felt his thighs clench beneath hers, his fingers digging into the skin of her back and then finally the stuttering rhythm of his body inside of her. His eyes rolled back in his head and she watched him come - memorizing the look of utter bliss on his face.

The couch was literally right there but they slowly sank onto the rug together instead. 

“Bed,” he moaned after a minute had passed.

She laughed against his chest, “You first.”

A long groan, “Too far.”

“You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow if we sleep down here.”

Another low groan of protest and he managed to lift himself to the edge of the couch, rolling until he was settled deep in the cushions. She joined him there, pulling the soft blanket from the back and settling against him.

He was snoring before she had even finished and she sighed in contentment as she snuggled into his warmth.

 


	16. Chapter 16

The bright white winter sunlight streamed through the windows of Rafael’s midtown apartment and not for the first time he thought about investing in some curtains. Sunlight glared across his laptop screen and he grumbled to himself as he shifted the device this way and that to make the screen legible again. Even without the glare, the words of the legal brief swam before his eyes and he rubbed the heels of his hands against them, leaning back into the couch and sighing. Sundays were supposed to be days off but he’d been stuck in this hellish cycle of legal loopholes for the last hour.

Roseline stretched out on the couch next to him. His laptop was resting on her calves which were in turn resting in his lap. She was mumbling to herself, occasionally humming and he found himself pausing to listen. “What are you doing?”

She looked up from where her pen tapped at her lower lip, “Wha?”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, writing a new song,” she smiled at him, then cut her eyes away.

“What about?”

“Oh you know, life, love… the usual.”

“Uh huh,” he watched her face. She was nervous - she blinked a lot when she was nervous. It was her tell. “Just the usual?”

She glanced up through her eyelashes and he raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh fine, it’s about us. Write what you know right? The blues is about life - this is my life - stop looking at me like that.” The words poured out of her in a rush and he closed his laptop to focus on her.

“About us?” She nodded, making a scribble in her notepad. “What about us?”

“Oh, you know. _Us_.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” At her questioning look he clarified, “I always thought blues was about heartbreak. Or going to jail. Or your dog dying,” he paused, pursing his lips, “or all three.”

The chuckle that burst out of her made his heart skip a beat and she tapped her pen against his thigh as she smiled at him, “I’m not heartbroken, I haven’t broken the law in weeks, and Moxie is doing just fine at the parents house as far as I know.”

“Weeks?”

“Let it go Rafael.”

Re-opening on his laptop he tried to work but he couldn’t get the words of the brief to come together. “So what are you writing about?”

“Us, I told you that.”

He snorted, “What _about_ us?”

She opened her mouth, then grunted, “I’m not telling you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you’re a fuddy-duddy.”

“A _what_?” he wasn’t sure he’d ever been so offended. “I am not a _fuddy-duddy_.”

She sat up, dislodging his laptop as she looked at him, “Sweetie, you fell asleep during ‘Rent’. During a _live production_ of ‘Rent’.”

“‘Rent’ was boring. A bunch of people singing about being unemployed - what’s interesting about that?”

The kiss on his cheek was unexpected, as was the huff of her laughter against his ear, “And that’s why I’m not going to tell you about my song.”

She laid back down, and soon she was humming again, he thought he made out the word “baby” in there but couldn’t catch the rest.

“One line.”

“ _Oh my god_.”

“Just tell me one line and I’ll leave you alone.”

“You are badgering me sir.”

“Over-ruled, answer the question."

The notepad made a soft smacking noise when it hit her chest and she gave him a wry half smile. “Baby I wonder if you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“How bad can it be?”

She smiled, “That’s the line.” Leaning back, she turned so that her notepad blocked her face when she lifted it. Humming, she made a note, glancing at him over the edge for a moment before scribbling again.

It was monumentally disconcerting but then again, he practiced his summations in his kitchen while he was waiting for water to boil - who was he to judge?

An hour later, Rafael was bone tired and ready to let the man they had in custody go on a technicality if it meant that he didn’t have to finish the damn brief. He arched his back, enjoying the stretching feeling for about a half second before a pain shot up his spine and he cursed.

“You okay?”

The concern in her voice made his lips curl into a wry smile but as he turned to her he cursed again, “I think, maybe, I just did something to my back.”

Her lips twitched, “Little young to be throwing your back out aren’t you?”

“Eres una bruja malvada, sabías que,” he grumbled, pressing his fist into the small of his back.

Muttering something that sounded suspiciously close to ‘big baby’ she sat up and slid one leg behind him on the couch - situating herself until she had her knees on each side of his hips. Her hands smoothed against his back, pressing on the stiff ridges of his muscles. It was nice and a soft _mmph_ noise escaped him right before it choked into a sharp squeal.

It was as though someone had shoved an ice pick into his shoulder blade and he jerked away from her, resisting the hand on his shoulder that pulled him back anyway. “You’ll feel better,” she lied to him - she must be, nothing that hurt this much could ever feel good. She counted down from fifteen in his ear, and at one he let out a deep sigh of relief. The breath turned into a _ernk_ noise a moment later as she shifted her knuckle down a quarter of an inch and did it again.

“What are you doing,” he could barely pull in the breath to ask the question, the sounds coming out high and reedy.

“I swear to god,” she shifted and pressed in harder, “ _twelve, eleven_ ,” and then kissed the side of his neck, “you will feel like a new man.”

“I’m feeling pretty good,” he choked, “you can stop now.”

By the fourth time she pressed into him he managed to contain the noises that wanted to escape from him - and by the sixth he had to admit that the top part, where she had started, did feel better. When she pulled away and slipped a hand under his shirt, she smoothed along his skin firmly and he groaned. 

“Better right?”

“Yes…” he moaned it, rolling his shoulder back and reveling in the smooth motion.

“Good,” she kissed his ear, “time for the other side.”

“No - that’s okay - you don’t need to-“ _fuck_ that hurt.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” he gasped out some time later. She’d moved to a different part of his back, pressing three fingers into his skin and he had to actively resist squirming away from her.

“Ex-boyfriend.” The answer was casual, and she didn’t stop what she was doing but he felt his eyebrows draw together. 

“You dated a masseuse?”

A pause, “Chiropractor.” Then the fingers dipped to his side and he jerked away. “Ticklish are we?”

“If you are even thinking about-“ 

Her huffing laughter tickled the back of his neck, “I would never.” And surprise of surprises she didn’t. Instead, she pushed him to bend forward, pulling his polo shirt up to rest at his shoulder and began to massage against his skin. Oh this was _much_ better than the knuckle and finger jabbing had been. He hung his head, not caring how he must look and let her work those magic fingers on his back.

“Remind me to marry you cariño,” he mumbled drowsily.

She paused and it took him a moment to realize what he’d said. His heart stopped, his face flushed red and he waited for the inevitable excuses that she needed to leave. Her hands began to smooth against him again and he could hear the laughter in her voice as she replied, “Many have tried.”

He turned his head from where it rested on his knees, trying to catch her eye. “Really? How many?”

“Six.”

He spun around, feeling the fabric of his shirt fall against his back as he met her eyes. “You’ve turned down six proposals?”

“Four.”

“You just said-“

“I’ve been proposed to six times - I turned down four.” She slid away from him, standing from the couch and crossing into his kitchen. He watched her, flabbergasted but somehow not surprised. Of course she had been proposed to, it would be idiotic to think she hadn’t. But _six_ times? She pulled a can of soda from his fridge, leaning back against it with an air of nonchalance that had to be fake. “Go ahead, ask. You know you want to.”

“Who were they?”

She snorted, “Exactly who you might think. Two knew I was leaving and were trying to stop me. Two were genuinely in love I think but not…” she shrugged and smiled at him.

“And the last two?” he tried to keep his voice even - like he wasn’t ridiculously invested in the answer.

“I was engaged for a bit, in oh-seven. It uh… it didn’t end well.”

“How did it-“

“He wasn’t right,” she shook her head, pushing away from the fridge and crossing to sit on the edge of the coffee table across from him. “There’s more to it but I don’t-“ she sighed. 

“Okay,” he looked into her eyes, cutting her off. “And the sixth?”

She grinned, “Well, I think you maybe you just did…”

He felt himself panicking again and she crawled into his lap, straddling his hips as she laughed. “Oh for Christ’s sake Rafael calm down - I won’t hold words said in the heat of bliss against you.”

His laugh was tinged with relief as he kissed her and it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world when their kisses deepened into long stroking caresses. He held her body tighter against his - the brief could wait until later.


	17. Chapter 17

“We need a code word.”

Rafael’s fingers stilled on his tie. He was always adjusting it even when it didn’t need it, as if any article of his clothing would ever dare to be even the tiniest bit askew. “Excuse me?”

The nearby tray of hors d’oeuvres beckoned to Roseline and she sighed deeply as it passed just out of her reach. The party was dull. Dull with a capital ‘d’ in fact. She would much rather be working this event than attending it. One would think, with as many attorneys under one roof as there were the conversation might be interesting, but alas. If she had to hear about one more person’s investment portfolio she was going to punch a baby in the face.

“We need a code word,” she repeated.

Rafael raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes glancing up over her shoulder and nodding at someone across the room. “Whatever for?”

“For these interminable conversations. You can be like ‘Oh yes, I just purchased a peacock pocket square’ - or I can say something about seeing a peacock in Central Park and the other will know that they want to not be in the conversation any more.” She paused, “Peacock, in this case, being the code word.”

His nostrils flared and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He was trying not to laugh, obviously not wanting to encourage her, but she was well past needing his encouragement. Liquid encouragement wouldn’t go amiss though as she eyed a passing tray of drinks. “Let me get this right, you want us to have a code word for when we’re bored out of our skulls so the other person can make the excuse?”

“Yes.”

“And the word you came up with is ‘peacock’?”

She considered it for a long moment, rescuing a glass of something red in wine glass as it passed by on an aloft tray. “Or better yet, I can tap out ‘SOS’ in morse code on your arm. That’s even better.” She took a sip - yes, it was most definitely wine. 

“Raffie!” Rafael turned at the sound, pulling Roseline along with him and they both smiled at the man and woman approaching them. “Raffie have you seen Chuck anywhere? He said he was going to bring his new wife with him but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of either.”

“I haven’t,” Rafael responded.

“And who is this lovely lady?” The other man’s eyes drifted down her body and while Roseline told herself he was admiring her dress, she wasn’t buying it. The man had done the same thing at a benefit not long ago, his eyes practically peeling her cocktail dress off of her. She was used to it by now, a hazard of her chosen profession, but it still made her skin crawl.

“Roseline Dagust,” she held her hand out, noting how sweaty his palms were.

“David Yin,” he replied, then introduced his wife as well. The group made idle chit chat until she noticed him looking at her quizzically. Finally, he couldn’t seem to keep his curiosity to himself. “Have me met before Ms Dagust?”

“At the Children First Gala, about a month ago I believe.”

“Of course,” he obviously still didn’t fully recognize her, at least not by her breasts which he had yet to manage to lift his eyes from, “nice to see you again.”

His wife did though, her face pinched into a sour expression. Roseline had seen it before a hundred times. She glanced at Rafael, hoping he hadn’t noticed either of them but the muscle ticking in his jaw was evidence enough. Leaning a little against him she squeezed her hand against his arm, giving him a half smile when he looked over at her. He didn’t smile back. After a few minutes the other couple excused themselves.

“Pendejo,” Rafael mumbled under his breath and Roseline bit back a giggle. He glanced over at her, “He was undressing you with his eyes. With his wife standing right there. What an asshole.”

“Yes, well, you get to actually undress me - I think that makes you the winner.”

A smug smile played across his lips and he slipped his arm from hers to slide around her waist instead. Oh, that was quite nice - and a welcome change from his usual stiff alertness about such things. 

They didn’t manage to stand alone for long, quickly getting wrapped into a small group of people who were heatedly discussing - well, _gossiping_ \- about something that had happened recently.

“So Mitchell tells the judge that the DA is on this _personally_.”

“No.”

“But of course Ramirez knows nothing about it so when Yannis calls him that night he apparently just sort of nodded along.”

“Oh, you know how that call must have gone the next morning.”

The group, including Rafael, laughed and Roseline smiled politely. The man to her right saw her confusion and clarified, “A colleague of ours tried to bypass some pretty strict protocols but got caught.”

“It’s more than that,” another man interrupted, “if it had worked it would have been the coup of the year. But of course it didn’t. There was almost no way it could.”

“Oh,” Roseline laughed, “a wildcat offense. Interesting choice then.”

The group looked at her quizzically. “I beg your pardon?” the man on her right asked.

Roseline’s eyes darted to Rafael who was smothering a laugh, “A wildcat formation… like in football?”

The group continued to stare at her until she finally just smiled at them brightly and they returned to their exchange as she took a sip from her wine glass. A pinot maybe?

“You should stay away from sports metaphors,” Rafael whispered down to her. “This isn’t the most athletic group.”

She choked on her wine.

They stood there listening, Roseline doing her best to feign polite interest without being so interested they might ask for her input. She could feel Rafael’s fingers idly moving against her waist as he occasionally offered comments. Sometimes tapping against her hipbone, sometimes just lightly pressing. _Tap-tap-tap._ It was almost rhythmic. _Press-press-press._

 _Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap, press-press-press_.

In fact, it _was_ rhythmic, she was sure of it. She concentrated on the movements.

 _Tap-tap-tap, press-press-press, tap-tap-tap_.

She burst into giggles suddenly, covering it by coughing into her hand and turning into Rafael’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked, all concerned solicitation.

She shook her head and he looked apologetically over her shoulder at the other people in the group, “If you’ll excuse us…” He led her away and she continued to hide her face and cough until they were out of earshot.

“I can’t believe you actually did that.”

“Wasn’t that the code?” His face was the very picture of innocence and Roseline almost kissed him. She reached up to fix his collar instead, laying it neatly against the lines of his waistcoat. He smiled at her before his eyes caught on something over her shoulder. “Liv!”

Turning, Roseline spotted a tall brunette in a black cocktail dress making her way towards them. When she stopped in front of them Rafael practically beamed as he made the introductions.

“Roseline this is my friend and colleague Olivia. Liv, this is my girlfriend Roseline.”

Oh, now that was interesting. A first as far as she could remember and he didn’t stumble over the word or anything. “I’ve heard so much about you,” Roseline said honestly as she held out her hand. The other woman’s handshake was firm and she seemed both stunned and pleased as she blinked at Roseline and Rafael. 

“Olivia,” the woman said, smiling down at her, “Rafael talks about you quite a bit.” Both of their eyes went to the man beside them who was turning ever so faintly pink under their perusal. He coughed, adjusting his tie for the fourteenth time that night and mumbled something Roseline couldn’t catch.

“You don’t have anything to drink Liv, may I get you something?”

Olivia nodded at him and he glanced at Roseline who shook her head before striding across the room. Roseline burst into giggles before he was out of earshot and watched him skip a step before continuing onwards.

“He likes you a lot,” Olivia mused, her smile warm as she watched Roseline.

“I know.” It was a simple statement of fact. “I like him a lot too.”

“Good.” The quiet word hung between the two of them for a long moment and Roseline wondered if she had misjudged the other woman. Was there something between her and Rafael? Something unrequited? She grew cold - or maybe even something requited? But the moment passed quickly and Olivia smiled at her as she asked, “Are you enjoying the party?” Her face must have given her away because Olivia laughed and winked at her, “Not exactly the most energetic bunch are they?”

“I mentioned football and they acted like I was speaking another language.”

“Tell me about it,” Olivia sighed. “We had a case with a hockey team last year and I had to teach Barba who all the players were.”

“Really?” Roseline’s eyes widened, “that’s _amazing_.”

Olivia chuckled, “Don’t tell him I told you that. He really not the worst, have you met Watkins?”

“Skinny white guy with a bad toupee?” At Olivia’s grin Roseline smiled, “Oh yes, does he honestly think no one knows? I mean, toupee technology has come a long way, there’s no excuse for that thing.”

“Carisi think he wears it to keep his head warm. Like a furry little hat.”

Roseline and Olivia laughed together at that and any concerns she might have had about the other woman melted away. She liked Olivia, could see why Rafael would like her too. Roseline glanced around the room, “How late does this thing usually go?”

“Ready to be gone already?” Olivia asked and gave Roseline a conspiratorial smile at her nod before shrugging, “This is my first one, only Sergeants and above at these shindigs.” Her gaze grew conspiratorial, “The department party downstairs however…”

Roseline’s brows drew together for a moment. “The department? Oh! _Your_ department.” She considered the information, “You’re telling me a bunch of detectives are getting boozy in this building and I’ve been listening to men talk about stock options for the last two hours?”

The gusty laugh that burst from Olivia startled the man standing behind her and Roseline shot him an apologetic look even as Rafael finally returned with the drinks. “I hesitate to ask…” he started and Olivia and Roseline snorted at the same time.

“Rafael, _darling_ ,” Roseline crooned and watched his eyebrows snap together as she took a step towards him. “Would you be terribly disappointed in me if I ducked out the rest of the night?”

“Why? Are you ill? Should I take you home?”

The corners of her lips twitched at his concern. “No, I just think maybe you’d enjoy yourself more without me...”

He rolled his eyes as he caught onto her tone, “Of course _dear_.”

She moved even closer, leaning to whisper into his ear. An apology along with a few promises, a proposition - nothing she wasn’t planning on doing anyway but there was no need for him to know that. His light green eyes darkened with lust as she spoke and when she pulled back he leaned forward to her, his eyelids fluttering closed as though he was going to kiss her before he pulled himself up short suddenly. Coughing, he pulled at the edge of his waistcoat, “Ah, yes, well, of course. If- if you-“ he trailed off, staring into her eyes and she gently kissed him on the cheek.

Backing quickly away she turned to Olivia, “Shall we?” Olivia’s eyes were bright with laughter and as they turned into the crowd together she heard Rafael bark out, “Wait, _what_?”


	18. Chapter 18

Whatever pre-conceived notions Rafael might have had about the SVU Christmas Party the sight of Carisi, Amaro, and Rollins in a line chugging glasses of beer was somehow… exactly it? With the possible exception of Roseline at the end, flipping her glass and slamming it to the table a half second before Carisi could. The small crowd near her cheered - Olivia, he noted idly, at the forefront - while others booed and hissed, jeering at the three detectives. Roseline threw her arms into the air in an unmistakable show of victory even as she stumbled forward from the hearty slap Fin gave her on the back.

“No fair,” Carisi whined, rubbing his hand across the back of his mouth, “she wasn’t even here for the first few rounds.”

“You are what my momma would call a sore loser,” Rollins teased as she slung an arm over Carisi’s shoulder before turning them both towards Roseline. “Hon, I don’t know where you learned to drink like that but way to represent the sisterhood.”

“I run a bar,” Roseline grinned at them, “I think I can hold my own with a bunch of lightweight flatfoots.”

The loud guffaws covered whatever she said next and Rafael slipped between the crowd until he was at the end of the table furthest from her. Carisi noticed him first and he pulled himself away from Rollins, tugging the edge of his sweater down. Jesus that kid… Rafael would never get used to being so fucking _idolized_ all the time. Carisi practically fell over his own tongue trying to prove himself whenever Rafael walked in the room. It was really annoying - especially since he wasn’t a half bad cop. He’d probably be a decent lawyer someday if he could ever get his act together.

Rollins noticed him next, her face lighting up for a moment before her eyebrows drew together. “Counselor! Come to crash the party?”

“I’m just looking for my wayward date.”

Roseline turned nearly three hundred sixty degrees before she saw him. “Rafael! You abandoned that awful mess upstairs too?”

“Without you there was no point.”

To his left, Amaro snorted - quickly schooling his features when Rafael raised an eyebrow at him. For her part, Roseline looked pleased by the pronouncement which was really all that mattered. “That’s fantastic! We’re playing something called ‘kiss the weasel’ - Fin is very good at it. The rest of us not so much…”

Rafael felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he met Olivia’s eyes but she quickly looked away. “‘Kiss the weasel’ huh? Are you playing blind rules or house rules?”

“You know this game?” Amaro sounded disbelieving and Rafael rolled his eyes as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and slowly rolled up the sleeves of his red striped shirt.

“Of course I know ‘Kiss the weasel’ - it’s a classic,” he said as he loosened his tie.

“We were playing house rules,” Fin offered, stepping up to the table and re-filling the glasses. “Roseline kissed the weasel so she gets to start the next round.”

“Give me a quick refresher, it’s been years and we usually played blind.”

Fin met his eyes down the table as the others stepped up but he dutifully ran down a list of rules and regulations. “You’ll pick it up soon enough. We’ve got enough for teams now if you’re going to play,” he pointed out.

“Ooh yes, you’re going _down_ Nick,” Rollins taunted from across the table.

“Rollins, Carisi, and Roseline against the three of us? Doesn’t seem fair,” Rafael commented and Rollins shook her fist at him.

Across from Rafael, Carisi looked like he might be sick, “Counselor are you sure-?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, we’re about to kiss the weasel, call me Barba.”

A choking sound to his far left caught him off guard and he looked up to see Olivia pounding on Roseline’s back as she held a hand up. After a moment she looked up sheepishly, “Choked on air, my bad.” Her shaking shoulders suggested otherwise but he didn’t comment.

Four game rounds later, Rollins and Roseline were propping each other up with arms around the other’s waist while Carisi squatted on the floor, his arms crossed on the table as he stared at the shot glass in front of him. Rafael felt a little warm, but their team - with Fin’s leadership - had done quite well overall and he’d only had a single ridiculously hoppy beer that no human should have had to touch tongue to.

“You have to take the shot Carisi,” Amaro was saying, “you screwed the pooch, it’s the rule.”

“I don’t like this game,” Roseline whined and Rollins shushed her gently, patting one hand on her braids.

Carisi pressed his forehead to the scarred wood before snatching the glass up and knocking the contents back. He gasped, running a hand through his hair as he set it back on the table. “I hate this fucking game,” he snarled.

“You,” Roseline pointed a finger down the table at Rafael, “how come you didn’t have to do a shot?”

Rafael blinked, “Excuse me? I didn’t screw the pooch.”

“No, but you owned the octopus - that’s a forfeit too.”

He looked at Fin - Was it? Fin shrugged but not before Rollins noticed. “Wait a minute, I’ve seen that look. You two are in cahoots.” She looked around the table, at Amaro’s smug expression and Olivia who was fighting so hard not to laugh she had to turn away. “You’re all in this together!”

It had really been entirely too easy. Fin had set up the game perfectly and between his and Rafael’s perfectly timed lies and Olivia’s poker-faced support for what they said no one had stood a chance. Amaro had caught on quickly and between the four of them they had run the table.

“What?” Carisi picked his head up, staring fuzzily into the air.

“You rat _bastard_ ,” Roseline breathed, “you _tricked_ me?”

“You left me at that holiday party so you could come drink downstairs with this lot,” Rafael shot back, crossing around the table and stalking towards her.

She pulled herself upright, not seeming to notice how heavily Rollins leaned against her. “I am getting to know your _friends_.” At Rafael’s raised eyebrow she continued, “A few them are maybe your friends. Probably not that one,” she gestured towards the floor and the man leaning heavily against the table.

“Hey,” Carisi protested weakly.

Stopping in front of Roseline, Rafael pulled her toward him gently by the upper arms, “Don’t leave me like that again.” He kissed her, barely hearing the heartfelt sigh and gentle “aww” from Rollins next to them.

“You said I could,” Roseline protested when he pulled away.

“I lied.”

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his and he leaned in again before remembering where they were. Coughing, he glanced around for where he had left his coat and rolled his sleeved back down. “Gentlemen, ladies - I think it’s time for us to go.”

No one protested too much, although Rollins and Roseline engaged in an emotional conversation which seemed to consist mostly of hugs and interpretive dance of some sort but ended with them swapping phone numbers. Olivia gave her a hug too, and then to his surprise gave him one as well. He returned it, finding himself smiling as he pulled away. 

Once the goodbyes were finished Rafael pressed his hand agains the small of Roseline’s back, guiding her out of the bar and into the large foyer. She leaned against the wall by the coat check as he gathered their belongings, head lolling against the marble.

“Don’t pass out on me,” he cautioned, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“And whose fault would it be if I did?” she accused.

“You’re an adult, take responsibility for your actions.”

She snorted, opening her mouth to retort and pushing herself from the wall and directly into a man passing by. They collided hard, Rafael heard the ‘umph’ of breath as it rushed from her and the muttered curse of the man.

“Jesus, watch where you’re going,” Roseline snapped.

The man drew back, his eyes raking down her, “Calm down honey, you ran into me.”

Roseline pulled her shoulders back, stepping forward until she was in the man’s personal space, “Excuse me? I am not your _honey_.” Rafael groaned, desperately searching for the coat check attendant so he could get their things and get out of there. “Maybe if you had half a brain in that cheap ass suit you’d be able to walk and not run into other people.”

The man shook his head and stepped around her. Rafael let out the breath he had been holding.

“Yeah, that’s right, run along now before something happens to you.”

_Shit_ , could she not leave well enough alone? Was he going to have to fight someone tonight? He hadn’t thrown a punch in twenty years. The man turned back to her, his face flushing red, “Listen to me bitch-“

Rafael stepped between the two of them, holding a hand up to the man and squeezing Roseline’s shoulder with the other, “I think that’s enough. No reason to get testy - _either_ of you. It was an accident.” Neither of them seemed ready to back down and Rafael added lamely, “It’s Christmas.” The man snorted, turning on his heel and muttering to himself as he strode out the revolving glass door.

“What an asshole,” Roseline mumbled as she watched him walk away.

“Well, you were pretty rude to him,” Rafael commented as he tipped the attendant and gathered their coats.

Roseline spun on him, “I beg your pardon?”

Rafael shrugged into his overcoat before holding hers out to her. “It doesn’t excuse anything, but you were really quite rude to him. I’m not surprised he got angry with you.”

She ignored his hands, her lips parted in indignation, “Are you saying that was my fault?”

“No, I’m saying that you handled it poorly.”

Jerking the wool from his hand she fumbled as she put it on and tied the belt around her waist, “I don’t believe this… “

“This isn’t the first time Roseline, you snapped at that barista just for asking me for my order first-”

“I was standing in front of you! He didn’t even know we were together!”

“-You push and you push and then you get angry for no good reason.”

“Oh I see, I’m just another angry black woman.”

Rafael blinked at her, “That’s not what I-“

“No, I get it, it’s okay. I’ll keep quiet from now on - just some nice chocolate arm candy for you to show around. No need for me to talk.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with your race Roseline, it’s your attitude.”

“Fuck you,” she stated, turning from him and pushing her way out the doors.

“Where are you going?”

She ignored him, holding one hand up to flag a taxi.

“Roseline,” he reached for her elbow but she jerked away from him. “Roseline, please.”

When the cab pulled up she slid into it without acknowledging him, slamming the door in his face. She snapped at the driver and the car was gone before he had time to protest.

What the fuck had just happened?

 


	19. Chapter 19

Rafael sighed as the elevator softly dinged its way to his apartment, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. He’d walked home from the party, the biting December wind propelling his strides. He still didn’t understand what had happened, what exactly he and Roseline had been fighting about. He didn’t _think_ he had said anything wrong - but then again he was fairly awful at gauging the right things to say in a relationship. In the courtroom he was fantastic - but in the bedroom…

The doors opened and he sighed again, stepping out and turning into the small hallway. He stopped short, having the sudden thought that the city’s homeless problem was getting out of control if people were taking to sleeping in his doorway. His confusion lasted less than a second before he stepped forward and squatted down next to the sleeping form.

Roseline clutched her jacket around her, leaning into the doorframe. Her heels were on the floor next to her, the edge of her dress tucked under her feet. She looked peaceful, comfortable, and he wondered how long she had been there.

“Roseline?” he reached out to touch her cheek, smiling as she turned into his hand. Blinking slowly, it took her eyes a few tries to focus on him as she struggled from sleep.

“Rafael?”

“What are you doing here?”

She seemed to wake up suddenly, jerking upright and grabbing his hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I was… you were right, I was drunk and rude and I lashed out at you and I’m sorry.”

It was his turn to blink at her, the jumble of words washing over him before he realized she was apologizing.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I shouldn’t have left you like that, and I _definitely_ shouldn’t have drunken that much…”

A part of him wanted to let her continue, he had the feeling that if he let her she’d end up apologizing for kidnapping the Lindbergh baby. But he leaned down and kissed her forehead instead. “It’s alright. Apology accepted.”

“I get really stupid sometimes,” she continued.

“I hadn’t noticed.” He stood, holding a hand down to her and pulling her up beside him as he fished for his keys.

“No, I get stupid and snappy and it’s this huge character flaw. I don’t know what you see in-“

He cut the words off, his lips against hers and his hands on her hips. She moaned into his mouth as he pressed her back against his door. “I said, apology accepted. That means you can stop apologizing.”

Sighing, she leaned into the crook of his shoulder and he guided her into the apartment a moment later. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door, not bothering to turn the lights on as they slowly walked together to the bedroom. The soft orange light of the city bathed the room in a warm glow and he slipped her coat from her shoulders as she placed soft kisses against his neck. Smoothing a hand up her back, his fingers caught at the zipper of her dress and it dropped in a pool of fabric at their feet. She shivered in his arms and he stroked his hands along her before pressing her towards the bed. “Get under the covers, I’ll be there in a minute.”

When he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later she was asleep, curled on her side under the blankets. He smiled, slowly stripping down to his briefs and joining her. She was warm, and when he slipped his arm over her waist she pressed her back to his chest and mumbled something to herself. He breathed in the light scent of her and drifted to sleep as well.

 

* * *

 

Rafael awoke to bright morning sunlight from what might just be the best dream he had ever had. He was on a beach, in the Cuba of his dreams - where the sand was never too hot and he owned half the island. Roseline was there too, doing delicious things to his body on the not too hot sand…

He resisted waking up, his body protesting even as his mind shrugged off the fog of sleep. It felt very real, the hands on his skin, the wet heat of…

He came awake all at once, his eyes flying open as his brain finally processed what his body was telling it. He lifted the blankets, tilting his head to verify that this was really happening to him. Roseline looked up at him, his dick sliding from between her lips as she smiled. “Good morning?”

“ _Jesus_ ,” he breathed, choking on whatever was next as she took him in her mouth again. How long had she been - the thought cut off as her tongue caressed the head of his dick, swirling around it and causing his hips to lift from the bed. Her felt her fingers grip his side, holding him down as she did it again.

“Ros-“ the word was cut of in a groan as she slid down his length, her tongue pressed to the underside of dick, laving at him as she began to take him in long rhythmic strokes. He tried again, “I’m going to-“

The hard sucking pull of her mouth stole all of his ability to create words and he fell back into the sheets, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensations. If this wasn’t the best way to wake up in the morning he didn’t know what was. He felt the tingling sensation in his balls first, spreading through his body until he gasped and came in her mouth.

When his brain was functioning again he found her cuddled to his side and he rolled into her, wrapping an arm over her waist to pull her closer. “Is it your turn?”

She bit her lip, smiling sheepishly, “I might have already taken one for myself.”

“What?” he blinked at her, taking a moment to comprehend. She trailed the tips of her fingers across his lips and he captured them, licking against the skin and the taste of her filled him. “Oh, _oh_.” He sucked on them, scraping his teeth along the sensitive flesh and she moaned. “Did you really? Fuck, that’s-” he groaned, unable to find an appropriate word.

She giggled, pulling her hand from his mouth to cup his neck and they kissed in the bright morning light. Rafael could have happily stayed there forever but the buzzing of his phone interrupted the peaceful moment. 

“Are you going to get that?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he bit her lower lip and she sighed.

“What if it’s important?”

“They’ll call back.”

“Rafael…”

He rolled his eyes, turning over and grabbing the phone. _Dammit_. He answered, “Buenos días mamí.” Roseline’s eyes widened and she bit back a laugh as he gave her an accusatory look. He watched her roll out of the bed, pulling a shirt from his dresser and slipping it over her head. It only barely covered her and he watched appreciatively as she left the bedroom. “Qué? No, no tenemos planes.”

When he entered the kitchen a few minutes later Roseline was bending to look into his fridge, her bare ass showing under the hem of the t-shirt she had picked out. He couldn’t resist, cupping her in his palms and squeezing as she jumped up. “Rafael!”

“Mmm? What are you looking for?”

She leaned back into him, “Food. I seem destined to be disappointed.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the take out boxes and shelf full of condiments. “We can order,” he said defensively and she laughed, stepping away from him to the steaming kettle. The french press was set up and ready and he added ‘girlfriend has coffee waiting’ to his new list of ‘best ways to wake up in the morning’. It was a distant second to what currently held the top spot.

“How’s your mom?”

Leaning back against his table he watched Roseline add water to the press. “She’s fine. She uh, she wants us to come over for dinner Christmas Eve. And then midnight Mass if you’re interested.”

She looked at him at of the corner of her eye, obviously gauging his reaction to the invitation. “I’d love to meet your mom, but I understand if you’d rather-“

He let out the breath he’d been holding, catching her to him and pressing his face to her neck. “Yes. I mean no. I mean-“ Jesus, what was happening to him? He shook the thought off. “I’d like it if you did.”

 “Then of course I will.” 


	20. Chapter 20

Roseline pulled on the edge of her coat as she walked up the stairs in Rafael’s mother’s building. She’d spent the better part of three hours deciding what to wear tonight. Church was one thing; she and God had a long-standing agreement that she would continue to be a good person and in exchange He would overlook her barely twice a year visits to His house. But Rafael’s mother was an entirely different level of anxiety. If she dressed up too much would she be considered uppity? But if she missed the mark the other way it would be disrespectful.

Rafael, for all of his suits and tailors and excellent fashion sense, had been no help at all. “She’s going to love you,” he’d told her over the phone which was quite sweet but didn’t solve the problem she was having. In the end she’d settled on dress pants - because lord only knew the hysterics she’d put herself through over the right skirt length - and a blouse and her warm rose wool coat. It was, in fact, the same outfit she’d worn to bring him lunch at his office. In her head, she mentally dubbed it the ‘impress Rafael’s colleagues and family’ outfit. Braids pinned securely to the back of her head she’d taken a train uptown, meeting Rafael at 23rd and switching for something heading to the Bronx. He’d noticed her nervousness and spent the forty-five minute train ride asking her about her birthday the next week, what the plans were, if he should do anything.

She loved him for it - but it didn’t help.

Now he was knocking on a painted red door and Roseline had to resist the urge to snatch his hand back. The woman who opened it was attractive, slightly taller than Rafael, and unmistakably his mother. They had the same eyes and that same warm smile. They even held themselves with that same casual arrogance.

“Rafael, mijo, you’re late.”

Rafael grunted as he ushered Roseline into the apartment and her hands clutched at the parcel in her arms. “I’m not late mamí, I’m just not early.” He turned to Roseline who hoped she was smiling with something verging on normalcy. She would be forty in a week, there was absolutely no reason on earth she should be terrified of this woman. “Mamí, this is my girlfriend Roseline. Roseline, this is my mother Lucia.”

“Jwaye Nwèl,” Roseline chirped entirely too brightly as she thrust the package in her hands at the woman. Lucia looked down at the paper quizzically and Roseline quickly followed up with,“They’re banana beignets.”

“Oh. Did you make these yourself?”

Roseline’s skin heated and not for the first time she was thankful she didn’t blush, “No. I’ve tried and I usually get mushy dumplings at the end. My mother made them.”

Lucia Barba smiled at her and Roseline felt some of the nervous tension ease out of her. “Well, tell your mother I said thank you. Now, come in come in - the food’s nearly ready.” Lucia strode past them into her kitchen, the heels of her shoes clicking along the linoleum. Roseline let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“See?” Rafael whispered as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto a chair. “Nothing to it.”

Roseline followed suit, carefully laying her jacket atop his. “I’m going to remember every moment of this when you meet _my_ parents next week.”

He laughed and Lucia’s voice rose from the kitchen, “Rafael, come help me with the buñuelos.”

Rafael’s eyes lit up at that and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Yes mamí.”

Roseline followed more slowly, taking in the photos on the walls. Groups of school children were crowded around Lucia - their uniforms timeless although the filter on the photos made her think they spanned at least thirty years. She glanced around the room - something was definitely off but it took her a minute to put her finger on it. There were virtually no photos of Rafael. Oh, there were plenty of family photos - Rafael with his arm around an older lady, a group of young men at the park. But there weren’t any photos of just Rafael. Even with four kids, her parents still had their senior photos framed individually in the hallway - Rafael was an only child, how was there not room for him in here?

Filing the information away, Roseline stepped up to the small kitchen island. “Can I help?”

Lucia’s eyes met hers and the older woman instantly pressed a plate of food into her hands. “You can carry this to the table.”

Once all the food was set Roseline and Lucia took seats across from each other. “Rafael?”

“Coming mamí.”

Roseline hid her laugh as best she could, he sounded closer to four than forty. When he re-appeared he’d lost his suit jacket somewhere, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his tie loosened. He sat to Roseline’s right and she had the thought that this could be their future. Warm meals on the holidays, laughter and family and that loving smile that played over his lips. She sighed.

“Roseline, that wasn’t French earlier was it? Joyeux Noël?” Lucia’s voice pulled her from her reverie.

Roseline smiled as she passed the plate of bread across the table. “It was Creole actually, Jwaye Nwèl. Very similar. You have a good ear.”

“Oh, you speak Creole?”

Rafael was giving her a bemused look and she realized they’d never really talked about this. “No, I mean, I speak a little. Mostly curses.” He blinked, his lips twitching and she realized what she said. “Oh! You know, like most language learners, you pick up some phrases and the things you probably shouldn’t learn well before you learn anything useful.”

Lucia smiled at her, “Do you mind? I’d love to hear something else. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who spoke Creole.”

Roseline looked around the table, “Um, fini manje ou oswa èspayol yo pral manje manje ou.”

“What was that?”

“Finish your food or the Spaniards will eat you.” Rafael snorted and both women looked at him. “My mother used to say it,” Roseline clarified while Lucia tried to hide a smile.

“You’re right, that doesn’t seem very useful.”

“You’d be surprised,” Roseline said and Lucia laughed.

The dinner went surprisingly smoothly, Rafael kept the conversation moving along and Roseline managed to not drop any food on herself which had been number three on her list of embarrassing things she might do at dinner (behind “curse like a sailor” and “bring up how often Rafael and she had sex” - both of which were things she had actually done in past relationships). As they finished, Roseline ventured a question of her own, “Rafael tells me you run a school Lucia, how long have you been doing that for?”

“Oh, I’ve been at _South Bronx_ Classical for almost ten years.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Lucia gave her a considering look, “The kids there are my passion - they get me out of bed in the morning. They’re special.”

Roseline cocked her head, “I imagine not everyone makes it.”

“We lose a few every year - drugs, gangs, but not as many as we could. Not as many as most schools around here. I spend a lot of time with the kids, at least, as much as I can. With all of the administrative paperwork it’s hard to keep focus on the students.”

“It sounds like hard work.”

Lucia laughed, “After raising this one there isn’t much that fazes me about kids anymore.”

Roseline’s eyes lit up and she shot Rafael a look from under her eyelashes, “Oh?” She tried not to sound too interested, “Was Rafael a problem?”

“He had his days - a little too willing to go along with his friends. But it was that mouth of his that mostly got him into trouble.”

“Still does.” Rafael commented and winked at her.

His mother laughed and pointed a finger at him, “When you were fourteen Mr Bluestein pulled me aside at a parent-teacher conference to tell me you were sarcastic.” Rafael made a low ‘oof’ noise as the memory came back to him. “I grounded you for a month and what did you do?”

“I wrote him an apology.”

Roseline glanced between the two of them, Lucia Barba’s frank and steady gaze on her son who had become very _very_ involved in precisely folding his napkin next to his plate.

“You remember what it said?”

He couldn’t seem to help the grin that broke across his face, “That it just tore my heart to pieces that he would think that of me and I hope he accepted my deepest and heartfelt apologies for what I might have done to offend him.”

Roseline covered her mouth with her napkin, coughing to cover the giggles that bubbled out of her. When she looked up Lucia was giving her a wry smile, “You laugh now, wait til it’s one of yours.”

Roseline blinked, her mouth working as she studiously avoiding looking at Rafael. Thankfully, Lucia saved her from any embarrassment. “Dessert?”

Rafael nearly knocked his chair over in his haste to get up and Roseline heard her own wobble behind her as she did the same. “I’ll help,” they said at the same time and Lucia unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile as she stood more slowly. “Roseline, why don’t you help in the kitchen while Rafael grabs the plates.”

The buñuelos were the melt in your mouth kind of good that only mothers could manage, and the beignets that Roseline had brought - although a little mushy from their long journey - were a hit with both Lucia and Rafael alike. The three of them chatted amicably, finishing a second bottle of wine until suddenly Lucia’s eyes darted to the clock on the wall. “Oh my… We need to leave or we’ll be late.”

Roseline checked her watch, raising an eyebrow at Rafael. Just how far was this Church they were going to? He laughed as he held her coat out for her. “There’s always a musical program before Mass. It’s mamí’s favorite part.”

“Hurry up, hurry up, come on.” Lucia stood at the door, shooing the two of them through as she swiftly locked it behind her. Roseline grinned as she followed Rafael down the stairs and into the cold night air. They met a neighbor outside on their way to Church as well and Lucia marched ahead with them while Rafael and Roseline followed at a slower pace - her hand hooked into Rafael’s arm.

The Church was brightly lit, the Elders at the door greeted Lucia warmly and made teasing remarks to Rafael about how long it had been since they’d last seen him. He blushed under their scrutiny and introduced her instead of responding. Smiling, she shook hands as they made their way about halfway down the aisle, Lucia sliding into the pew first, then Rafael and finally Roseline.

They were only just in time, the choir director tapping his baton on his music stand as soon as they had unbuttoned their coats. A hush fell over the congregation and the artificial lighting was dimmed - leaving only the candles to light the large church. As the strains of Schubert rose around them Roseline leaned into Rafael’s shoulder and he lifted his arm to wrap around her. She let the music wash over her in waves, leaning into his warmth. The simple piano notes chased each other and Roseline braced herself for the young boy’s first notes.

“ _Ave Maria…”_

She blinked back tears, damn but if this song didn’t always get the best of her. 

“You okay?”

She looked up into Rafael’s eyes, the clear green bright in the candlelight, brows drawing together in concern. She had the sudden thought that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. 

“I love-”

_Shit_. Shit shit shit _shit._ That was _not_ what she had intended to say. But those eyes and that face and the wine and the music … she hadn’t been able to help herself. 

His face was unreadable and she quickly finished, “This music. I love this song.”

He blinked once, then smiled. “I love this song too.”

And then he kissed her - in front of God and everyone in the congregation, his hand tangling his fingers with hers in their laps. It was chaste, barely more than a brush of lips on each other, but they held it until his mother elbowed him hard in the side, rocking him into Roseline. He pulled back, the corner of his mouth kicking up into a half smile and then leaned his head against hers as the music drifted over them.

_Der Jungfrau wolle hold dich neigen,_  
_Dem Kind, das für den Vater fleht.  
_ _Ave Maria…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Ave Maria’ by Schubert…. https://youtu.be/2bosouX_d8Y


	21. Chapter 21

She answered the door in her underwear.

Underwear might be too generous of a word. Roseline answered the door to what looked like a very public - albeit empty - studio in her lingerie. The cream lace cupped her breasts and between her thighs, stark against her dark skin. A bow graced the front of her bra - not the little decorative bows that most women seemed to have. Of course not, Roseline didn’t do things by halves. The ends of the silver ribbon adorning the front of her bra dangled down her stomach to caress her navel. 

His fingers itched to pull it and he felt his hand lift without him telling it to. He stopped himself, unbuttoning the front of his coat instead. She looked good enough to eat but he was fairly certain they didn’t have time.

“You’re late.”

It was half an accusation, made as she turned away and he raised an eyebrow as he followed her. The room was large, a rehearsal studio she had told him on the phone when she’d given him the address. She’d claimed her day was too packed for her to do the rehearsal and get home so he should meet her there at seven. It was, as he’d noted, deserted. At least, he hoped it was. Surely she wouldn’t walk around like that in front of people. Well, people other than _him_.

“You’re not even ready,” he replied defensively then almost as an afterthought. “How did you know it was me?”

“I didn’t.”

He scowled at her, “And you buzzed me up dressed like that anyway?”

She seemed to suddenly notice the tone in his voice and turned to face him, stepping close enough that the tips of her breasts brushed his coat. He watched them, the skin of her nipples pebbling beneath the lace of her lingerie. Why was his mouth suddenly dry?

“I didn’t know it was you, but I hoped it was.”He met her eyes, tongue coming out to lick his lips. “I’ve been waiting to put my dress on. I have to admit, I wanted you to see me like this, wanted you to think of me wearing this tonight at the party - think about all this skin,” she moved closer, her body pressing his from chest to knee. “Think about all the things we’ll do later. It’s my birthday and I want…” she let it hang there, a promise floating between them.

“What do you want?” the words came out rough, his vocal chords suddenly refusing to work.

“You,” she replied softly, “I always want you.”

Fuck the party, fuck being late - he caught his arm around her waist and pulled her until she lifted her knee over his hip, notching them together like pieces of a puzzle. He hadn’t seen her since Christmas - work and the holidays keeping them both too busy. They hadn’t even been able to spend New Year’s Eve together. He’d missed her, missed her skin and her laugh and her smile. The side-eyed look of amusement she’d give him or the way her hand held his.

A week had never seemed like a long time. A week was forever

His lips found hers and he groaned as she opened for him, their tongues stroking against each other. The free hand, the one not occupied with making her body one with his, slipped over the edge of her thigh, sliding underneath until his fingertips could tease along the lace thong. She gasped and he pushed the material aside, stroking into her.

God she was wet. He was the luckiest man in the world.

He dropped to his knees, grunting at the hard contact even as he lifted her leg over his shoulder and pressed his mouth against her hot sex. She cried out, a startled ‘oh’ that traveled from his ears to his dick in a heartbeat. He lifted one hand beneath her, caressing against her thigh before pressing her thong aside with his thumb and thrusting two fingers deep inside her. She gasped, the sound spurring him on as he snaked his tongue out - seeking and finding the bundle of nerves that made her keen.

Her fingers bunched into the material of his suit jacket, clutching at his shoulders as she rocked against his mouth. He used his other hand to lift them, one then the other, into his hair - not caring at all when her tightening grip irreparably destroyed his coiffure.

It was worth it to feel the scrape of her nails against his scalp. 

He thrust his fingers into her, drawing out the gasping noises he loved so much, his lips caressing her clit. Her wetness coated his chin, his face - he moved his mouth lower to lap at her, savoring her essence.

“ _Rafael_.”

He’d never heard his name said like that before. Not even from her. Want and desire mixed up with something unidentifiable - something only he could give - and he rewarded it, pressing his tongue to her in short sharp circles, pressing his fingers deeper inside of her. She cried out when she came and he licked her through it, sucking on her until the fingers in his hair no longer pulled him closer but away.

He kissed his way up her stomach, nose brushing against the ends of ribbon until his eyes met hers up the long expanse of her body. “Feliz cumpleaños.”

Her laugh was breathless, her hands tugging him upwards until he stood on shaky legs and kissed her. They were gasping when the broke apart. 

“You should get dressed, we’re going to be late.”

She glanced down his body, where his dick strained against the fabric of his trousers, “Are you sure?”

Laughing, he set her back from him. “I’ll be fine, _go_.”

Shrugging, she sauntered away and he watched her until she was out of sight, her bare ass flexing around the line of her thong. Well, that certainly hadn’t helped him any. He searched for a bathroom and washed his face and hands, adjusting himself in his pants until he was fairly certain he was presentable. As he’d thought, his hair was virtually unrecognizable and he spent a solid five minutes raking his fingers this way and that before he was satisfied with it.

When he walked back out Roseline was there, slipping into a pair of strappy shoes and she looked up and smiled as she saw him. Her dress was short and sleeveless, silver and white crystals sewn over cream silk. She looked like she had stepped straight out of a 1920s jazz advertisement. It suited her admirably.

“Oh shit.” Her eyebrow raised at that and he fumbled into his coat pockets. He’d nearly forgotten about it. What with all of the lace and bows and other things. 

“That had better not have been about my dress.”

“No, it’s… Here,” he held out the robin’s egg blue box to her, the white bow on it not his choice but the shop clerk had insisted was necessary. He both loved and hated giving presents - loved the act of picking something out but the waiting while they decided if they liked it was horrifying. He only bought for his mother anymore, and now Roseline - but that was a train of thought he didn’t want to pursue and he squashed it quickly. So caught up in his own reverie, it look him a long moment to realize she was staring at him. “What?”

“You didn’t…” she stepped closer to him, ignoring the hand holding the box and placing hers on his chest. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“It’s your birthday. Of course I got you something.”

Her smile was warm - not the coy or charming or sexy smiles he was so used to but just warm and happy as she took the box from him. Inside the gift box was a drawstring bag and he heard her soft gasp as she opened it. The small silver figure eight was on a double stranded chain. It was simple, something he knew she would love as soon as he laid eyes on it.

“Oh Rafael, it’s _perfect_.” She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly before pulling back and handing the necklace to him to put on her. He snapped the chains together, carefully situating it under her hair and against her dress before leaning forward and kissing the back of her neck. She turned to him, her fingertips resting on the small charm, “It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.” And she kissed him and everything was right with the world.

In the cab she leaned into his side and he lifted his arm to wrap around her shoulders. “Guess what?” 

“What?”

“We signed today.”

Signed what… oh. _Oh_. “Did you get a good deal?”

“Decent. I could have hoped for a better percentage but for a first deal in our genre? We did alright.”

The smile threatened to split her face and he leaned forward and kissed her. “Congratulations.”

“I was thinking about announcing tonight, at the end of the party. Martin wants to wait but I think it’s good.”

He considered it, “It’s your party, I think you can announce if you want to.”

“That’s what I said!”

The cab stopped in front of a nondescript door, the blacked out window next to it spelling out the words ‘Dust Bar’ in gold lettering. Roseline slid out, chattering at him as he paid the fare, “I mean, it’s sort of a birthday present to myself right? And it’s not like I’m stealing attention. I mean, I’m stealing attention from _me_.”

Rafael nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets as she darted ahead of him to the door. She’d refused a jacket - claiming nothing she owned suited the dress. At his, perfectly reasonable, assertion that it was ten degrees outside she had cheerfully informed him that she didn’t plan on being outside for more than a moment at a time. As she disappeared inside the door he had to admit she was right.

He caught the tail end of the cheer that rose when Roseline entered, an older man that must be one of Roseline’s brothers stepping up and giving her a hug. “Bonn fèt!”

“Thank you!” she hugged him back before turning and pulling on Rafael’s arm. “Patrick this is Rafael.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” the man said gruffly. He was probably a good ten years older than Rafael, his hair gone mostly white. He had Roseline’s eyes, and her nose. “I’ll show you where you can put your coat.”

Rafael shot Roseline a glance but she just smiled and shooed him away. He thought maybe she mouthed a word at him - ‘Garpa’? That couldn’t be right. Patrick showed him around the bar where a teenager took his coat and ran it downstairs. He pulled at the edges of his black suit, re-situating it against the purple striped shirt he’d worn. When he turned back Roseline was standing there with an older man and woman. He set his shoulders back, straightening his spine and ignoring the creaking protest his back made at the action.

“Rafael, may I introduce you to my parents? Peter and Anastacia. Mama, Papa, this is Rafael.” The man stepped forward before Roseline finished, catching Rafael up into a hug that he awkwardly returned.

“So you’re the one Roseline won’t shut up about!”

“Papa,” Roseline scolded, but the corners of her lips lifted into a smile.

“What? You think he doesn’t know? It’s all over your face ti kè.”

Roseline rolled her eyes and he turned to her mother who hadn’t moved during the exchange. The woman gave him a long perusal, taking in the cut of his suit, the silk of his tie. A brow lifted as she stared at his hair for a long moment and he had to resist the urge to smooth it out. Finally, she made a gruff, noncommittal noise and asked, “Domincan?”

He shifted on his feet, his natural aversion to the rudeness warring with his desire to make nice with Roseline’s parents. “Cuban.”

 “Better,” she grunted, before turning to Roseline. “Chouchou, I’m going to find your sister,” and then she was gone.

 Rafael opened his mouth, brows drawing together as he turned back to Roseline. She was shaking her head, rolling her eyes as she watched her mother walk away.

“That means she likes you,” Peter reassured him.

“Oh,” he blinked, “that’s good then I guess.”

“She has…” Peter searched for the right word, guiding Roseline and Rafael back around the bar. “Strong opinions. About people. About _types_ of people.”

“Mom’s a little bit racist,” Roseline whispered to him conspiratorially and her father made a sharp tsking noise as Rafael fought for air.

“No, she’s just had some hard times in the days. Before we came here. Life is not always so easy, no?”

Roseline shrugged, frowning, and he got the feeling this was not a new argument for them. Someone waved to her across the room and she smiled as she waved back. 

“Go see your friends, I can keep your konpayon company. We will talk, as men do.”

Was it suddenly warmer in the bar? Rafael rolled one shoulder back, trying to relive the constriction of his suddenly too tight collar.

“Are you sure?” she was looking at him, not her father.

He forced a smile, “Go on, I’ll find you in a bit.”

She took a hesitant step away, not taking her eyes off of them before she shrugged again and disappeared into the crowd.

When Rafael glanced back Peter had been joined by another man, younger but blockier and taller - and with what Rafael was coming to think of as the Dagust nose.

“So you’re the guy dating Rose.”

Rafael glanced at Roseline’s father but he was turned away, talking heatedly to the man behind the bar. He pulled at the cuffs of his shirt. “Yes, and you are?”

“Alex, the handsome brother.”

Rafael held a hand out, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Alex held onto his hand, squeezing it as he stepped forward, “Do I need to tell you what happens if you hurt my baby sister?”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Rafael responded truthfully and watched the other man laugh, pulling him to the bar before releasing him.

“Jeremy, a glass of Woodford for Rose’s anmourè here.” Alex leaned against the bar and scrutinized Rafael from head to toe. He was _really_ regretting letting Roseline mess his hair up earlier.

Actually, that wasn’t true - he smiled a little at the realization - it wasn’t a true statement at all. In fact, he’d do it again if he could find ten minutes alone with her tonight.

“I know you from somewhere.” Alex’s voice brought him out of his reverie.

Rafael looked towards Roseline, then back at her brother, “I doubt that.”

“No, I know you for sure. You ever go out to Brooklyn?”

“I used to work with the District Attorney there,” he said the words carefully, trying to remember if he had ever met the man before.

“Holy fuck,” Alex bit out, reeling back. “Hey Patrick, come over here.” Rafael started to sweat a little as he found himself cornered by the Dagust brothers. “Check this out, you recognize him?”

Patrick glanced him over, “No?”

“It’s the motherfucker who sent Venturelli to jail back in ’09.”

Well _fuck_ , this was a nightmarse come to life. He looked at the two men from under his eyebrows, wondering if he was about to get punched in the face.

“Really?” Patrick looked him up and down again, “Francesco was a friend of ours.”

Rafael stood his ground, “And he was sentenced for dealing drugs to minors if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, I said _was_. Still, bit of a dick move, sending your girlfriend’s ex to prison.” Patrick stated flatly. Alex cuffed him across his shoulder and Rafael moved a bit under the hit. 

“Oh? Really?” he tried to keep his face impassive, glancing sideways to study Roseline in that sparkling white and silver dress. She was laughing at something someone was telling her, head thrown back. She practically glowed in the low light of the bar.

Alex cut in before Patrick could say anything else, handing Rafael a glass of bourbon, “Yeah, in high school. So, a million years ago.” He titled his glass at Rafael. “To dick moves and bad decisions,” Alex toasted and Rafael smiled ruefully as he raised his own glass.

The brothers left him a moment later, Patrick to find his wife and Alex… he wasn’t sure exactly what Alex’s excuse had been but the end result was the same. He shifted his weight, grabbing a glass off the bar as he slowly crossed the small bar to where Roseline chatted with a couple. He typically enjoyed parties, but when every toe in the room was a favorite cousin just waiting to be accidentally trod on it made the journey feel somewhat perilous.

Rafael stepped to Roseline’s side as the couple left, handing her the glass and feeling her lean against him. “Apparently, I sent one of your old beaus to jail,” he said without preamble.

“What?” she turned quickly, the drink sloshing over her hand and she cursed as she shook it off.

“Francesco Venturelli?”

“Francesco Ventur- oh shit really? That’s so bizarre.” She handed him her drink, wiping her hand with a cocktail napkin. “How do you even know that?”

“Your brother recognized me.”

“Which one?”

“Both, actually,” he said, watching her hand take the glass from him, the other lifting to straighten his tie. She left her hand there, pressing against his chest and he leaned into the touch.

“I had terrible taste in men then, please do not judge seventeen year old me. It was the nineties, I wore parachute pants for christ’s sake.”

He looked at her, “I think your mother thinks you still have terrible taste in men.”

Laughing, she pulled on his tie and kissed him, her lips clinging to his as she pulled back slowly, leaving him with a heady feeling and the faint taste of vanilla. “Mama wants me to marry a nice Haitian dentist and move back to Brooklyn. She’ll come around once she realizes how charming you are.” She shrugged, frowning, “Or she’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“ _Great_.”

She laughed, kissing him again then introducing him to the next group of birthday well-wishers. She was in her element, sparkling like a diamond in the middle of her friends and family. And she was _his_. He felt the surge of possessiveness even as he scolded himself for it. She was his partner, an equal, not his property. But it was _his_ arm she slipped her hand into and _his_ shoulder she leaned her head against as she laughed. And it would be _his_ bed they’d go back to tonight and _his_ body she’d… he groaned, cutting the thought off before he caused trouble for himself, slipping his hand around her waist instead. The feeling was primitive and he decided there was no harm in embracing it. Just for one night.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, he was measuring the passage in drinks more than minutes and he found himself facing Patrick and his wife as Roseline gushed about the holidays and her plans for the future. “Oh, I have news!” Roseline was practically beaming, her eyes bright in the dim light of the bar as she shouted over the music.

“Oh? What is it?” her brother stepped closer, bending his head down as Roseline opened her mouth.

“We-“

The word was loud in the sudden quiet of the bar. Roseline cut herself off, her eyes going to the stage where her father stood, microphone in one hand as he waved her towards him. “I do not want to interrupt but I have something I need to - it’s my daughter’s fortieth birthday!”

A ‘woo’ noise came from their left and Rafael glanced over to see Alex with his arm around a young woman. 

“Roseline?” She smiled at him, squeezing Rafael’s hand before crossing to stand beside her father in the small space. Once there, he turned to her, gathering her hand into his. “I don’t have a lot to say. It’s not my way. Just that I am proud of you, more so than I ever would have thought possible. You are a woman grown - and I want you to have this.”

The box he gave her was small, almost swallowed by his large rough hand. She hugged her father, tugging the ribbon off and opening it. Her eyebrows drew together and Rafael wondered what was inside. When she held it up, it was a key. Simple, brass - just a key. Behind him, he heard one of her brothers gasp.

“It’s to the bar,” her father was saying, “paperwork should be clearing sometime on Monday. I’m too old to be doing this anymore - the Dust Bar is yours.”

The room erupted into cheers, people standing to shake Mr Dagust’s hand, giving Roseline hugs. Someone turned the music back up and the strains of ‘Celebrate’ roared to life around them. 

He wondered if he was the only person who noticed the completely stricken look on her face.

 


	22. Chapter 22

He’d asked her about it of course. Asked her about the key she kept turning over in her fingers even as they sat in the cab. She’d shaken her head, staring out the window although she leaned into his warmth. They’d stood shoulder to shoulder in the elevator silently as it rose up the sixteen floors to his apartment. Inside he had paused, “Are you sure that you-“

He was cut off, the sharp clink of the brass key hitting the floor his only warning before Roseline’s arms wrapped around his neck and she backed him into the wall. He felt his eyes go wide, his hands coming up to her hips as she kissed him. Breathless, he moaned as her mouth trailed under his chin - her hands pulling at his tie and then cupping his jaw and turning his face to the side so she could lick at his ear. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about-“ he tried again.

“No talking,” she whispered. “Fuck me Rafael. Don’t let me think.”

Well, he was nothing if not obliging.

The crystals sewn onto her dress scratched at his fingertips as he searched for the zipper. She had already pulled his tie loose, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and drawing her tongue along his skin. Finding the zipper, he quickly pushed the dress off of her, hearing the slight jangle as it hit the floor heavily. She stepped to him again but he stopped her - taking her hand and pulling her to the bedroom, setting her on the edge of his bed. The cream and silver lace underwear she wore made her look like a queen - his bed her throne. He had the sudden urge to conquer her.

“Wait here,” he ordered, turning to his closet and searching for a moment before he found what he was looking for. The silver tie matched her lingerie perfectly and while he could have used the one he was wearing - it seemed a shame to let the opportunity go to waste. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to voice a protest, he slipped the silk over her eyes - gently knotting the cloth at the back of her head.

“Ok?”

She nodded back at him, her throat working as she swallowed and her tongue touched her lower lip.

“Lie down,” he told her, stepping to the side of the bed as she did so. His fingers trailed up one of her thighs and he smiled as she shivered under his touch. He traced the edge of her hipbone, pressing more firmly along her side and between her breasts. Her lips parted and he pressed the tip of his finger to her lower lip, gasping slightly when she licked at it. Pulling back, he cupped her cheek in his palm and stared down at her. With his other hand he slowly pulled at the long ribbon on the front of her bra, the silk sliding between his fingertips. On her next intake of breath the lace fell open and his mouth watered as he looked down at her perfect breasts.

“Mi amor,” he whispered and gently traced one finger around her nipple, watching the flesh pebble under his touch.

“Rafael,” it was a plea, and if he hadn’t already been hard that whisper of a word from her lips would have made him so.With sudden resolve, he slide his hands beneath her arms, lifting them and sliding his palms along her until he could press her wrists above her head. Leaning down, he gently licked at the skin behind her ear and smiled at her sharp intake of breath.

“Don’t move.”

He lifted his hands from her wrist, waiting for a moment to see if she would comply. Her breath was coming in short pants, her upraised arms lifting her breasts in a way that practically begged to be touched. He stared down at her as he slowly pulled his tie off, the whisper of the silk on cotton music in his own ears. The shirt came off faster, joining his tie, shoes and socks on the floor. Roseline was turning her head this way and that, biting her lips as she strained to hear him but he remained quiet, padding around the bed in bare feet where there was more room. When his weight joined hers on the plush duvet her face turned to him, back arching and thighs rubbing together.

Not for the first time he had the thought that he was a lucky man. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time that _night_ ,

The lightest of touches on her stomach nearly caused her to arch off the bed and he propped his head up on one hand - stretching his body out next to hers so he could watch how her skin moved beneath his fingers. She sucked in air when he caressed her hip, her legs falling apart. He could see the glistening wetness on the inside of her thighs and he bit back a moan even as he slid his fingers under the band of her lingerie and into her. Hot, wet, and unbelievably responsive she pressed herself into his palm and he slowly stroked against her.

“Please,” she gasped, barely more than a breath of air and he slowly pushed one finger inside her. The moan that followed sent shivers of pleasure straight from his brain to his dick. Her fingers clutched at air above her head, her full lips parted and her face turned towards his. 

“Come for me Roseline.” The words spilled out of him unbidden, his thumb stroking against her clit and she cried out.

“Please…” Oh god, was it wrong to be getting off on hearing her beg him like that? Not that it mattered right now - he slipped a second finger inside her, pressing harder with his thumb.

“Come for me baby…”

The noise she made was barely human, her hips arching off the bed as her body convulsed under his hand. He followed her, drawing out the sensations, pushing her until her thighs clenched together around his fingers. He smiled, the night was off to a fine start.

The lazy curl of his tongue on her nipple made her jump, loosening her thighs’ grip on his hand and he took the opportunity to slowly peel her wet underwear from her legs - tossing them at the foot of the bed. Hand returning to her stomach, stroking softly with his fingers he gently licked at her breast, tracing around and around before returning and pressing the peak between his teeth and tongue. Her entire body jerked and he held her down with the flat of his hand, his mouth following the same path downward.

“Rafael?”

“Mm?”

“What-?” her question cut off into a strangled ‘oh’ when he pressed his lips to her pussy, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

“Rafael,” not a question this time, a sigh.

“Mmm…” he moaned into her, his tongue licking at her wetness, leaving the one hand on her stomach as the other grasped at her thigh and he pulled her closer. Looking up, her body was spread out for him - the tight lines of her arms disappearing behind her head. She looked captive - in his bed for his pleasure. The thought made him groan and he sucked against her clit as he imagined tying her down completely. Her body writhing as she begged him. Not too unlike tonight actually and he smiled. Who’d have guessed he had a such a wild side? The thought sparked within him - just how far might she be willing to go?

Carefully, his thumb pressed into her wetness as he sucked on her, gathering the dew before sliding down. Slowly, he stroked against her, fingers splayed on her ass as he used his thumb to spread her own juices. He repeated the motion twice, his thumb gently caressing the puckered flesh before he finally applied gentle pressure.

“Wait.” Her voice froze him and he stared up her body, unable to meet her gaze through the blindfold.

“Do you want me to stop?” Please don’t, his internal monologue pleaded, let me do this for you.

She was silent, her breath coming in short pants. “No, just…” she squirmed against him, her ass pressing into his hand and he felt the tip of his thumb slip inside her. “Oh god,” she moaned and he smiled in satisfaction, flicking his tongue out to caress her clit.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked again, wanting to hear her say it.

“Don’t you dare.”

He chuckled at that, bending his head to the task and sliding his thumb fully inside her. His lips pulled at her clit, circling his tongue on her and gliding the hand against her stomach down until he could press his other thumb into her dripping pussy. She came apart beneath him, screaming so loudly he had to resists the urge to shush her. The neighbors would just have to live with the knowledge that he was a virile sex god.

Gently easing his hands from her he wiped his fingers against the duvet and he slowly kissed his way up her body. Her knuckles were white where her hands clenched above her head and he gently kissed her neck as he settled his body between her spread legs.

“Why are you sill wearing pants?” she gasped and he chuckled. His laugh turned into a groan when she wrapped her legs around his hips and ground her pussy against his straining erection. His hands were on her legs in a heartbeat, pushing them from his hips as he sat back on his knees. In seconds, he had himself naked, settling on his back and pulling her body over his. Her knees settled on either side of his hips and they moaned together when her wet pussy slid along him.

Her hands fluttered against his chest uncertainly as he rolled a condom on and then guided his dick inside her. When her body began to slowly take his length he caught both wrists in his hands, holding them tightly until he was seated fully inside her. Her back arched and her own fingers snaked around him, gripping against his wrists while her hips rocked above him.

She was absolutely gorgeous. 

After several long moments of watching her he couldn’t help himself, his hips began to lift from the bed to meet hers, each slam at this angle making her cry out. Her hands pulled against his grip and it took him a few seconds to realize she was actually struggling with him.

“I want to see you come,” she begged and he released her immediately. She pulled the silver tie from her head, blinking in the sudden light of the room. Her eyes flew to his face and her hands met his again, their fingers intertwining while her lips parted. True to her word, her eyes never left his face when he came beneath her - and his hands gripped hers tightly a moment later when she did the same.

 

* * *

 

“What are you going to do?”

Roseline skin felt soft beneath his fingers, her body warm and comforting next to his. Neither of them was asleep. He, obviously, wasn’t - and her restless finger tapping on his stomach told him she wasn’t either. By all right they should be exhausted, he knew he was, but despite his best efforts the events of earlier that night had been bound to catch up with them.

She sighed against his chest, “I don’t know.”

He shifted beneath her, “Well you obviously can’t keep the bar. Is there someone you could sell it to?”

She was very quiet next to him, before she sat up on one elbow, “What do you mean ‘Obviously’?”

“You have a career, you just signed a record deal, you can’t go back on that.” His eyebrows drew together at the expression on her face. “Are you seriously considering throwing away your big break for a _bar_?”

Pushing away from him she swung her legs over the side of the bed, swiping her underwear off the foot of the bed and stepping into them. “It’s not just ‘ _a_ bar’ - it’s my _family’s_ bar - we’ve had it for nearly forty years. Hell, they’ve had it about as long as I’ve been alive.”

He sat up, watching her pace the floor next to the bed, “And maybe it’s time to give that up.”

“It’s not that easy…” she muttered and he wrapped the sheets partway around his waist, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“It seems easy to me. Tell them you can’t do it. End of story.”

She pulled the edges of her bra together, tying the front into a sloppy knot as she glared at him. “And what do I tell my father who spent four decades of his life building that place - who just gave it to me as a gift on my _birthday_?”

“He must know you have dreams outside of there.”

“What do you know about my dreams?”

He froze, staring at her with his brow furrowed. “We’ve talked about them, we’ve talked about what you want - what you want to be _known_ for - and it was never this.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her arms crossed over her chest with her body turned away from him. “Because _this_ wasn’t an option before.”

“You’re not a bartender Roseline, you’re better than…” he cut himself off when she turned on him, her face furious. It took just a moment to realize what he had said and he immediately regretted the words. “I don’t mean-“ but she was out the bedroom door before he could get the thought out and he tripped over the sheets as he tried to follow her.

The sparkly dress was thrown over her arm, the silver shoes and clutch in her hand as she pulled his front door open. “Roseline it’s ten below outside, at least get dressed, take a jacket-“ The anger on her face cut him off and he watched her leave the apartment - the silver and cream underwear stark in the light of the hallway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Completed stories by brandyllyn:  
> 'Debt Makes Promises' - Owing a favor to a known drug kingpin was hard enough, but when that person is Nevada Ramirez all bets are off. (Trouble in the Heights)  
> 'Further on the Edge' - Nevada meets a woman who gives him a run for his money. But she's not quite what she presents herself to him... (Trouble in the Heights)  
> 'Let Live' - If he was being honest with himself, this woman scared the shit out of him (Trouble in the Heights)  
> 'Bought and Paid For...' - To avoid going to a gala alone, Frederick Chilton procures the services of an escort. (Hannibal)  
> 'Half Empty' - Sometimes your body is the only thing you have left to negotiate with. (Trouble in the Heights)  
> 'Time's Fool' - Chilton is confronted with a woman from his past, but will their unfinished business ruin him or save him? (Hannibal)


End file.
